Foster's House
by McGeesJabberwock
Summary: AU. Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends transformed into a twisted nightmare of unimaginable horror...and Mac has to face its terrors to save Bloo from its evil clutches. Now with bonus one-shots!
1. Chapter 1

_Jack Pumpkinhead watched Tip curiously, but refused to join in the repast._

_"I don't seem to be made the same way you are," he said._

_"I know you are not," returned Tip; "for I made you."_

_"Oh! Did you?" asked Jack._

_"Certainly. And put you together. And carved your eyes and nose and ears and mouth," said Tip proudly. "And dressed you."_

_Jack looked at his body and limbs critically._

_"It strikes me you made a very good job of it," he remarked._

_"Just so-so," replied Tip, modestly; for he began to see certain defects in the construction of his man. "If I'd known we were going to travel together I might have been a little more particular."_

The Marvelous Land of Oz, L. Frank Baum

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Honk.

Honk. Honk. Honk.

The honking echoed behind her back as she ran through the forest. _He _still pursued her. She ran and ran and ran more, away from this danger, away from this terror, away from _him_.

Ha ha ha ha.

Even worse than his honking, was that laugh. That. Damn. Laugh.

**HA HA HA HA HA**

Those sounds only served as a constant reminder to _run faster_.

Keep on running. You can do it.

**HA HA HA **

Honk. Honk.

You can do it.

She darted between trees, jumped over rocks, running, running towards civilization.

Honk.

_He_ was coming closer. Closer and closer and closer…

Ha ha ha.

Finally! Her town! Home! Away from this monster and his claws of death. She ran down the streets, half in fear, half in triumph as she attempted to look for her home. She could easily recognise it… yes! There it was! Home!

She burst through the door and locked it, laughing victoriously. She wiped her head in relief and made her way upstairs to bed.

Honk honk.

No.

_Him._

Jokey the Clown was at the top of the stairs, his bulging red eyes boring into her soul, his cute pink costume belying his true evil intent.

She thought she had lost him.

But he found her.

**HA HA HA HA HA HA**

The laughter again.

She backed away slowly as the clown let out a devilish smile, licking his lips in anticipation, wielding the crimson hook in his gloved hand.

Honk Honk.

Nooooooooooooooooooo….

Blood. Blood on the walls. Her blood.

**HA HA HA.**

At that moment, Mac switched the television off.

He had no idea why he switched to that channel. Maybe it was just for intrigue. _Night of the Devil Clown _was getting tiresome, but these were the same people who made the abysmal _Curse of the Cannibal Ghost in the Haunted House on Horror Hill. _The film was lackluster; he didn't think of screaming, shivering or hiding under the covers. All he could think about while watching was how much he wanted cable and how life….

…life was dull. Just the same old hum-drum activities over and over. Not even coming home cheered him up. If only it gave him the same enthusiasm it did for that chick in that movie. His home was a dump, nothing more than a reminder of how far he had fallen in this lifetime. His apartment wasn't elegantly decorated, just a few posters, a few items of cheap furniture and some stuff from assorted charity shops. A pizza from Domino's was what was considered a 'big meal'. His Christmas and New Year parties were just solo events, combined with cheap snacks and an awful plastic tree.

Mac didn't want to dwell on the subject of his personal life for much longer; he just wanted to get to bed. Time to start a new day; he was sick of this one.

The rays of sunshine penetrating the dust-covered windows caused Mac to blink open his eyes, awaking to the bright sunshine of the morning. He ran through his tedious morning schedule of showering, shaving, brushing, combing, dressing, eating and of course, checking the mail. Same old, same old, bills, bills…

After checking the mail, he crawled tediously downstairs, out of the apartment building and next to the bus stop. The vehicle trundled across the street, nonchalantly hissing as Mac climbed aboard for work.

He worked at the library at the end of the road, paying the bills by working behind the counter, stamping people's books, that kind of thing. The minute he sat behind his counter, he bowed down and buried his face in his hands. For some reason, his job just seemed more of a…_necessity _than it usually did that day, thus he was in no mood to stamp anyone's books. Nevertheless, he did so reluctantly. Business was slow that day, just a couple of people came to his desk, one of them being some little brat with big cardboard books. Teletubbies…Barney…Blue's Clue's…

_Blue._

_Bloo._

Hearing the name echo in his head felt like icy cold fingers running through his brain.

"Crap."

Since he had forgotten to bring spare change for the return trip, Mac was forced to walk home that evening. It wasn't too much of a chore, but still…doing this meant he had to pass by…

_That _house.

The Foster House, the towering grey beast down the road that leered at Mac as he passed by. The house didn't make Mac _frightened_, but rather…curious. Curious as to how this house could have escaped from a book of ghost stories, and why it looked the way it did. Dark purple shingles, boarded-up windows, a tall, castle-like tower, all protected by a rusty iron fence.

The house once belonged to Madam Foster. She and her house were all ghost story fodder, all types of things being told about her around campfires and in playgrounds. She was a witch. She was weird.

She was _dead_.

Yes, she was the first victim of the recent murders. Of course, it was so suspicious. Everybody was saying that her ghost was going around killing people or something similar.

"Oh, forget it," he mumbled to himself, "It's not haunted…"

After Mac returned home and ate a microwave dinner, he approached his cupboard, pulling from it a shoebox which he held as if it were an ancient artifact. Actually, one might call it that…

It contained photos, drawings, remnants of the past…

All these thoughts about how much in disarray his life was unlocked happy memories of his childhood, and how he wished his present life could be more like it. His childhood was almost perfect, marred only by his 'jerk' of a brother Terrence teasing him and beating him up at times. His parents considered him 'clever' and 'imaginative', he was always willing to help out, and wasn't considered 'too old' for the movies and books which practically created his childhood memories.

The best part, however, was Bloo.

Blooregard Q. Kazoo, a strange creature that looked like a blue Pac-man enemy with a mouth. Many dismissed him as an imaginary friend, but all Mac did was try to convince everyone that Bloo was real. They had a regular imaginary friend relationship: they played games, laughed, told jokes, that sort of thing. If memory served right, Bloo was a big show-off, demanding constant attention, but always was just a big loveable goof-ball. But of course, Mac's mother constantly reminded him that Bloo wasn't real, he should be ignored, and he was part of the reason Terrence always had a go at him. Also, because Mac still talked to Bloo when he was eight, of all ages to still have an imaginary friend. But like all imaginary friends, he 'disappeared' at about age nine. Good thing he left before a double digit age.

Alas, Mac still dreamed of having Bloo here. Maybe life would be more tolerable with him around.

Just then, he remembered it was Friday.

Oh yes, it was a Friday. An _other_ Friday. And every other Friday, Mac went down to the pub down the road from his flat. The Cat and Clock. Just sitting there at the corner, always greeting him as he passed by it. There wasn't that much to do there other than have a pint of Guinness, but going there was still something to look forward to, and made getting through the week slightly more bearable. He didn't exactly have much of a social life, but the visits to that pub made him almost feel like he had one.

After grabbing an assortment of loose change that had lay on his bedside table, he set off. Despite the rain outside, he didn't put on a jacket, feeling his classic jersey and jeans ensemble was enough to keep him warm and dry. After stepping out of the flat, he stood still on the pavement for a while, though he didn't really know why he did. Perhaps just to have a breath of fresh air, just to look at the street lights, he didn't know. He did a lot of things without knowing why he was doing them, that was just how he was.

Feeling the drops of rain splatter on his head, Mac walked over to the pub, skipping slightly just to make himself feel a tad more enthusiastic. It wasn't long before he reached the Cat and Clock, and as he entered, he shook the water off himself like the place's former namesake. Stepping inside, he took a moment to listen to the music that played softly in the background; it sounded familiar, but he couldn't remember the name of the song. Comforted by the yellow light that shrouded the room, he sat at a stool, next to some random skinhead.

The mixologist, a rather bulky man with a thick moustache, turned his attention towards Mac the minute the latter sat down. Good to be noticed. "I'll have a Guinness," said Mac, plopping down two pound coins on the counter. Without a word, the mixologist poured Mac his drink and handed it over while snatching the coins. He was always like that. Guinness in hand, Mac decided to move off the stool and find another place to down his drink. While looking for a place to sit, he noticed a couple with their arms around each other, and began to wonder if he should be looking for a significant other of his own. Maybe not.

He finished his drink quickly, and decided, just for the hell of it, to take a spin on the game machine in the corner. Take one of the quizzes. In went the pound coin, some questions he didn't know the answer to popped up, and he got them all wrong and lost a bunch of points and ended the game. After that thrilling game, he just decided to take a look around. A poster on the wall announced a karaoke night. Maybe he'd go to it. He did like a good sing song in the shower, so he had some practice.

Just as he was about to sit on a seat and do nothing, he noticed someone approaching him. A tall, yet young-looking woman wearing black stood beside him, nervously grinning. "Hello," said Mac.

"Hi," said the woman, her smile growing somewhat shorter.

"Um, can I help you?"

"I just thought you might want a chat."

"Okay..."

"Let's go outside, I need a fag." So go outside they did. Well, it wasn't every day that someone was willing to have a conversation with Mac, so he might as well take advantage of the situation. As he and she went outside, Mac couldn't help but notice some of the patrons of the pub were leering at the woman, making unintelligible noises at her. Or maybe it was him, he didn't know and didn't care.

Upon going outside, Mac noticed the rain had cleared up a bit, making the street seem a little more comfortable. The woman leaned beside the pub's front door, a lit cigarette resting between her fingers. Mac couldn't help but think she looked like a teenager, perhaps it was the rock band t-shirt she had on under her black leather jacket, so he felt a little uneasy around her, as he had never understood teenagers.

Playing with her cigarette for a bit, she turned to Mac. "Do you ever feel disappointed in life?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, you had really great ambitions that you wanted to reach, and then one day, you realized the world wouldn't let you reach them?"

"Everyone has that feeling, I bet."

"I don't think we should be here. I think both of us are smarter than the people in there."

Mac shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I do too."

"You know, I wanted to be a famous sports player." This statement reminded Mac of when he was younger and had taKen those karate lessons. He wanted to use them to achieve greatness, but never did. He did like anything that reminded him of his childhood though.

Before he could reply to the young woman's comment, he noticed her eyes bulging and the cigarette dropping from her hand. "I have to go," she said before running down the street.

She probably had to go back home. Good idea.

Mac didn't think much about the weird woman or his conversation with her when he woke up the next morning. His first thoughts upon waking up were only that it was a Saturday, and he had Saturdays off, and thus, should enjoy his Saturday. How to enjoy this Saturday? He could think of no better way than just staying in bed.

**RING! RING! RING!**

Mac's train of thought was suddenly interrupted by the ringing of the telephone.

"Hello?

"Oh, hi, mom…

"What's the matter, mom, why are you crying?"

"_What _happened to Dad?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The rest of the week actually went by quite quickly, and Mac found himself at the funeral before he knew it. It was just your regular classic funeral scene: dreary, overcast day, everybody wearing tuxedos and formal clothes with their heads bowed down, grave covered with flowers, the minister reading lines from the Bible while trying to remind everyone about how great a father that man was. Mac had his head hung low, just to be honorable, while trying to recollect _any_ memories of his father. Most of his childhood memories concerned Bloo, Terrence and his mother. His father didn't really play a prominent role in his memories. His mother was the one giving him all the guidance. His brother gave him all the unforgettable torture. His father was only seen at dinner, and was far too busy working or doing who-knows-what. Yet his death still seemed tragic and melancholy.

Mac easily spotted his family among the patrons. Terrence was there, just doing what Mac was doing, which was just holding his head down in honour. His mother had also arrived, with her head buried in her arms, tears running down her face. She was probably the only patron who was actually crying.

After the funeral, Mac decided the best thing to do would be to comfort his mother at her time of need, just to help her get over this.

"Hey, Mum. I'm really…" His mother still cried. "You know…" Oh, fuck it. "Hey, you know, how about I drop over later today. I'll…help…Would you like that?" Mother nodded.

It was the least he could do to thank his mother for her parenting. He was _such _a sympathetic person, he was. After leaving the graveyard, he suddenly realized he had neglected to talk to Terrance. Certainly he'd like to drop over too, certainly he felt bad about losing Dad too. He couldn't be a jerk anymore, could he? He was probably too busy anyway; apparently he was still looking for a job. At least he had something to keep his interest.

After locking his apartment for the night, Mac caught a taxi and made his way towards his mother's house, _his_ house. When he caught sight of it walking down the street, it seemed to greet him. It had its own voice, one just as joyful and charming as that of Bloo. It understood him, and knew how to make his worries dissipate. As he walked along the path to the entrance of the house, near to the garden where his mother grew such lovely tulips, Mac swore he could hear _another_ voice. It seemed to register itself inside his mind, but he didn't know why he would think it.

'_Help, help, help me Mac, help…_'

"What?"

'_HELP!'_

The voice vanished into thin air.

More weirdness. Well, he had wished for life not to be so dull, so his wish was being granted, it seemed. Maybe it was karma.

Mac entered the house, greeting his mother with a simple 'Hi Mum' and sat down on the couch with his mother.

"Mum," Mac said, trying hard to conjure up the sentences that would comfort his miserable mother, "I'm really sorry you lost Dad."

"Mac, Mac," she cried, "I just woke up one morning, and…and..."

"He was…"

"Yes! He was fucking ripped apart! The police didn't find any evidence, no prints, no DNA…" She held her head in her hands and sobbed some more.

"I'm sorr…" Before Mac could finish his sentence, he heard a low growl escape from between his mother's fingers. She lifted her head and growled in a way that seemed so unnatural considering how she had just been acting.

"If I ever find the bastard who killed him, I swear I'll…I'll…" She gradually calmed down by counting, and sat down again.

"I'm sorry…Mac…"

"Mom?"

"I need to lie down."

She lifted herself off the seat and went to bed, breathing heavily.

If only that bastard was here right now…

After that scene from his mother, Mac took a few deep breaths to help him fathom what had just happened, and took a sit down himself. He considered turning on the TV for a while, but felt that enjoying himself would mean that he would be dishonoring the memory of his father. There was some unease staying here, considering it was the house a murder recently took place yet he told himself that staying here was his duty. A human being, a relative, had died, and though it was one Mac didn't remember having much of a connection to, he had to do something about it, or regret not doing so for the rest of his life.

_I love you mum…_

Scratch…

What was that?

Mac suddenly saw what looked like a thin bony claw scratching against the window. Scratching, scratching…

No, Mac, don't be childish, it's just a tree branch…

'_Help…_'

There was that voice again. Why is this mysterious person asking for…**_WHAT THE HECK IS THAT IN THE ROOM?_**

What looked like the shadow of a huge blob was in the room, just standing in the corner. No, it wasn't standing, it was _floating_. It had no legs. Mac just sat there on the couch, wondering what that _thing_ was.

The ghostly creature glided towards Mac, making itself more visible. It was cloaked in a purple shroud, its face obscured by a large hood. It turned towards Mac, and suddenly it grew a pale blue claw that wasn't there before.

Mac would have screamed, but no sound came out, just a faint gasp. All he did was stay paralyzed on the couch, his throat so dry it almost hurt.

"I wasn't told _you'd_ be here," the mysterious creature growled, speaking in a ghostly voice.

"Wh-wh-wh…" Mac stuttered, not knowing what this thing was.

"Wh-wh-wh…WHAT!" the beast roared, shaking its fist.

"What a-a-are you?" Mac gasped.

"Hey, c'mon, Mac, doncha recognize me?"

The creature took off its hood, revealing a thin face with no facial features other than two gigantic eyes, with blue irises and blue veins. As it spoke the next sentence, Mac swore its left eye became a mouth, teeth, tongue and all.

"It's me, _Bloo_!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Mac stared at this demented blue creature, just floating there in his room. The Blooregard Q Kazoo, in the flesh, as it were. It looked nothing like him, yet there still was that sense of familiarity. It was Bloo, just changed.

An evil imaginary friend. It just felt like some sick joke.

"What-what do you want?" Mac asked this creature, still frightened and confused about this ordeal.

"It's not you I want," Bloo said, an evil grin forming on the mouth that also acted as his eye. This was not the Bloo Mac knew at all. This fearful parody of an imaginary friend was so cold-hearted and vicious; not playful yet showy like 'Classic Bloo' was.

"**_IT'S HER!_**" Bloo cackled insanely, pointing his finger towards upstairs, his right eye bulging in anticipation.

With the utterance of that sentence, Mac's fear transubstantiated to furious anger. He put two and two together and realized _this_ was the killer. Not some human but a formidable ghostly beast from the pits of Hell. _This_ was the soulless beast that murdered the father, without a care in the world towards the mother.

_This_ was the killer Mac's mother swore revenge on.

And Mac did want to please his mother

Mac furiously slugged Bloo in the eye, slamming him onto the floor.

"You…" Mac furiously growled.

"Yeah, it was me," Bloo said, "I killed your Dad. But who really cares? He was boring. And boy, did Mum nag a lot. C'mon, let me kill her, you'll thank me later."

"Why?"

"Chill, Mac, it wasn't my idea." Mac, needless to say, didn't chill. How could he chill? This was not a situation where he could chill. "The Duchess told me to do it."

Duchess?

"Who?"

Bloo then floated right up to Mac, meeting eye-to-eye. "My boss."

The voices made themselves heard yet again.

'_Help.'_

"OK, OK, I won't kill your Mum, geez. You're just as big a whiner as she is," Bloo continued, "But I do think we should get together again."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's talk more tomorrow night." Bloo told Mac, "Meet me at the 'old Foster place'."

For a moment, Bloo vanished. The entire room vanished. All Mac could see was the Foster House, the monochrome place of legend, the haunted house on the hill. The house was _alive_, it grimaced, it laughed, it had grabbed Mac with its thin, boney claws…

"Mac!"

"Why…why there?"

"You'll find out. Chow." Then Bloo floated away into the night, through the open window.

_Us?_

Mac slowly awoke that morning, from an uncomfortable night's sleep on the couch. Thank God, Mum was still there. She wanted Mac to stay for breakfast. But what was he going to tell her about last night?

"_Hey Mum, did you know I saw my old imaginary friend who's become an evil killer who killed Dad and now lives in that old haunted house?"_

Ha, ha, what was he thinking?

"Um, sorry, I'm not hungry." he just told his mother. Then he left.

As Mac made his way back to the apartment, he started thinking about the questions that had just been raised. Who brought Bloo into reality? Who is this 'Duchess'? Why did she want everyone dead? Does Ol' Foster herself have anything to do with this? Are the rumors true?

Also, should he do what Bloo said?

Maybe they could work out a compromise, or Mac could try to help Bloo 'see the light'. Maybe all these crazy questions would be answered.

Or screw it. There's too much weirdness, and none of it was his business. Let Bloo stay up in Foster's House. If he's happy there, good for him.

After another taxi, he arrived back at his flat, which now seemed just as welcoming as home had seemed the night before. As he pushed open the door of his imperfect room, Mac noticed a brown envelope on the floor. Quickly opening it, he found out that, surprise, surprise, it asked more questions than it answered.

_Mac,_

_Meet me at the pub down the road from your apartment. I'll help you at Foster's. In the meantime, here's some light reading._

Who is this? How did he or she know about Mac going to Foster's house?

No more question asking. Mac decided to investigate the 'light reading' that had come enclosed. The first piece was a clipping from a newspaper.

**_IMAGINARY FRIENDS NO MORE?_**

_Local resident R.T. Foster made some rather ludicrous claims to our office, demanding that if we don't print this, we 'won't let the world know the gigantic favour she's doing.'_

_We don't want to upset a poor elderly woman, and we had a slight chuckle, so we printed her claims._

_Her claims involve bringing imaginary friends, our children's non-existent companions, to life. _

_Sounds pretty farfetched, doesn't it? But she tells us it's real and we shouldn't poke fun._

'_My plan is simple.' the elderly woman wrote us, 'I want to make real imaginary friends and give them to children who cannot imagine their own. I also plan on opening 'Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends' in the near future'._

_How she will do this she never told us. But all she told us is that a 'new friend' is helping her._

_We phoned her up and asked her why she was so interested in this 'project' and all she replied was: 'I had an imaginary friend too. I'd give anything to see him again. I want all children to experience the same great things I felt when I had him.' Then she hung up._

_Miss Foster, if you're reading this, I hope you don't mind us having a giggle._

All those reporters seemed to do was poke fun at Foster's intentions, but Mac found it difficult to read. Maybe this woman really was a witch, intent on nothing but occult practices and making Bloo a killer. But, there was yet more reading to be done.

**_FOSTER'S 'DEATH DEMONS'?_**

_Our staff are very sad to say that our beloved Madam Foster is dead. Brutally murdered and stabbed in the back in her own home. She will be missed._

_But that isn't the only big news._

_When she was murdered, the police were immediately called over to her household to check for clues. They found the body thrown in a ditch outside her house, a knife on her back and an upside down cross carved into her head._

_Immediately after finding the body, the police force on the job claimed they heard a demonic voice explaining 'This isn't over…'._

_The source of the voice wasn't certain, but one of the police force also tells us that he turned around and came face to face with something 'indescribable' for a few seconds, but when he looked back, it was gone. Of course, that certain policeman went berserk and tried to tell the rest of the force what he had just seen._

'_I…I didn't know what it was.' Ralph Juydon, the policeman who saw the 'demon' tells us, 'But I think it means we have a lot more on our hands.'_

_What of this? There were no prints or DNA found when examining the body. Are we really dealing with something supernatural? Or did Juydon make the story up to add more mystery to this case?_

_The real question everybody has on their minds though, is one of imaginary friends. Maybe she succeeded? Are we caught in some weird science-fiction story with killer imaginary friends?_

_But the most important question is: are we going to survive this?_

But the most important question is: are we going to survive this?

Now going to Foster's home had become another duty for him. The world wanted him to go there, like it wanted him to go back to his mother's house. If he wasn't going to see Bloo, who would?

7:30pm came quickly.

Mac took an old backpack out of his closet and packed in it supplies he knew he would need. A torch, for the house would be pretty dark, his tattered Bible, just in case… and…

A knife.

His kitchen knife, usually used for rare occasions when he had decent food. He picked it out instinctively.

No, it was just to protect himself. He wasn't going to KILL such an important part of his childhood.

Was he?

With the appropriate supplies in hand, Mac ventured out and walked down the pavement without skipping_. _He arrived at the Cat and Clock so quickly.

Upon entering, he heard a familiar voice call out to him. "Mac, over here!"

Mac found the source of the voice and was instantly greeted by that woman from last week. Of course, she would have something to do with this. She was weird, so she would have something to do with the weird stuff that's been happening recently. Part of what made Mac want to keep living was the hope of getting answers to questions about the universe, and maybe she could supply them. Before he could reply to her, he bought himself another Guinness from the mixologist, and had a guzzle of it in hopes it'll make what she had to say easier to hear. "Hey!

"Hello," she greeted, fidgeting with her hands, "My name's Frankie."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Um, hello, Frankie." Mac said, "How do you know … about that…er…incident last night?"

"Can we talk outside?" They went outside again, and after they did, Frankie pulled out another cigarette before explaining things to Mac. "I've been doing some spy work on that old Foster place," Frankie took a puff. Mac didn't smoke, but still wondered if he could use one of those at that moment. "I've heard your 'friend' talk about you to some extent. Last night, I heard him mention to another of those 'friends' about how you were coming over last night."

"Why were you spying?"

Frankie sighed. "Foster was my grandmother. She had this strange obsession with bringing imaginary friends to life, or something. I think she wanted to do it because of her old imaginary friend, which she told me was a giant rabbit named Herriman or something." Mac couldn't keep a straight face after that statement was mentioned. "Oh, stop it," she snarled, her eyes narrowing, "Do you know how much shit I've had to take over the years because she was my grandmother?"

"Sorry."

"Anyway, she looked for ways to do what she wanted then one day this weird guy in this grey coat came to her house and said he could help her with some spells and stuff."

"I'm guessing it worked."

"Yeah, it did." Frankie took another puff of her cigarette. "But when the spells were done, they ended up summoning this 'Duchess', who I think is supposed to be the imaginary friend of an insane person or something. She then…" Frankie threw the cigarette to the pavement, "_killed_ my grandmother."

She punctuated her statement by crushing the cigarette with her boot.

"I'm sorry…Frankie."

"Now the Duchess is leading this army of imaginary friends and making them kill the families of their owners. I think it's revenge for the owners being forced to forget them."

"Why not the owners themselves?"

"For some reason, whenever they approach their owners, the owner in question hears the 'old imaginary friend' speaking and the 'new imaginary friend' isn't as tempted to kill the owner as it is for the family and other people. I think that if you talk to Bloo, he might awake him from his nightmare and he'll come to."

Mac thought about this for a moment. If he succeeded in the task ahead and freed Bloo from the clutches of the sinister Duchess, he could have his old imaginary friend back! He'd have actual companionship! They would have so many conversations and maybe play games together. And because he would be physical, they would do much more than they did several years back.

"Mac," Frankie continued, "I need help. I need help defeating the Duchess. I need help avenging my grandmother's death. I need help…_please_."

"Why not?"

"Thanks."

So there was some questions answered, and what had been described by Frankie didn't feel as weird as it should have done. Hell, it was pretty much what he was expecting. If he went through this, he would avenge his father's death, and thus fulfill his mother's wishes. He was never one to disappoint his mother.

"Let's go," said Frankie, grabbing Mac's arm.

"Now?"

"Yes!"

So off the two went towards the house at the end of the street, shunning the light to bathe in its own grey glory. With every step Mac took, trepidation and doubt froze him for a moment, which was quickly overcome by thoughts of avenging two deaths and reclaiming Bloo.

He _had_ to do this. This would be the defining moment of his life.

However, he had never been _this _close to the house.

He could almost hear the house mocking him, laughing at him…

**HA HA HONK HONK HA HA**

A giant evil clown, with no other intention but to torture him for a joke…

Mac slowly began to slink away from the house until he was grabbed again by Frankie.

"Oh great…" she moaned, rolling her eyes, "_Don't _chicken out."

Thus, Mac convinced himself to approach the entrance to this sinister mansion, a tall cemetery gate with two burnt-out lights on either side and the word 'Foster' above it. The gate was covered with signs reading 'Condemned', which actually added the final touch to this haunted horror. As they approached the rusty gate, the signs appeared to drop onto the ground as if touched by an unseen force and, in a quite predictable manner, the iron gates creaked open by themselves.

"After you." Frankie said.

Mac took a deep breath of pride and his way down the path into the house of nightmares. If he walked away, the house would win. He _was_ going to do this. He _was_ going to venture through the vicious house, get Bloo back and…

**_GRRRRRRRRRR!_**

At that moment, blocking Mac's intended path, was what looked like a horned wolf, its purple fur contrasting with the dark monochrome of the building it guarded. One thing Mac noticed about the beast was the red collar around its muscular neck, with a gold tag reading 'Eduardo'. The creature was missing some of its skin, so its ribcage, crimson with blood, was exposed. It kept eyeing Mac, snarling in anticipation.

There was only one thing to do now: _run._

_Run, Mac!_

_Come on!_

_FASTER!_

Mac ran as fast as he could, the gruesome snarls behind him growing louder and more enthusiastic. If this was the first monster he was going to face in this weird house, who knows what the others will be like? As Mac was struggling to get away from this ferocious killer and into the house, Eduardo leapt over Mac and snarled at him again. Mac immediately began rummaging through his backpack, pulling out his knife, glistening in the moonlight. When Eduardo laid eyes on the weapon, it began whimpering backed away. After seeing the creature's true meekness, Mac made a threatening gesture with the knife which caused Eduardo to run away as quickly as Mac had done.

A gruesome beast, defeated single-handedly by Mac. Suddenly he had forgotten he was supposed to be afraid.

"They should get better security around here." Frankie told Mac, approaching him, "Eduardo's a wuss."

With that miniature battle out of the way, Mac and Frankie entered the bleak house, the former feeling that fear he had slowly return.

Mac was actually expecting your typical Scooby-Doo abandoned haunted house with cobwebs and sheets over the furniture. The interior of the mansion was actually quite elegant, yet done in extremely poor taste. The walls were coloured a light grey, the floor a dark red. On the floor was a demonic rug, depicting two grey demons flying around a pentagram. For decoration, there were two withered plants in plant pots that looked like human heads and 'The Hands Resist Him' hanging on the wall. The illumination for this room came from two silver statues of skeletons holding three candles each, two in their hands, one on their heads and a statue of a skull and two skeletal hands holding candles above the large door leading to the staircase. The grand bifurcate staircase had two gargoyles on each side, with banisters that looked like cobras. Although the hallway looked like the inside of an extremely twisted person's mind, Mac actually had an idea of the house's former splendor, before it was overthrown by the heartless Duchess. He wouldn't mind a house like this, if not for the macabre touches.

"Ah, I see we have visitors."

That was what the pretentious, yet mellifluous voice that came from upstairs exclaimed.

Soon, Mac and Frankie laid eyes on Herriman himself. His top hat, black tailcoat and yellow waistcoat would have made him look elegant if he didn't resemble the Easter Bunny after a series of sadistic experiments. He wore an eye patch over his left eye, and his right eye was bulging out of his socket. His left arm was huge and looked like that of a gorilla, his right had no skin or muscles, leaving white bone. He bore the classic 'rabbit buck-tooth' but it looked like a giant fang. A giant rabbit with many grotesque physical deformities; it was horrendously frightening but rather amusing at the same time. Mac found it _extremely_ difficult to keep a straight face.

"Ah, Miss Francis, I knew you'd return," Herriman said, then eyed Mac. "And you've brought a friend." he added in a darker tone, "I suppose _you're_ here to foil the Duchess' plans and what not."

"Well…" Mac spoke nervously, still frightened and confused by the house, "and…I…I also want to talk to my…erm…old friend Bloo."

"Ah, yes, Master Blooregard," the hideous rabbit replied, "He's told me a lot about you. You're Master Mac aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Master Blooregard told me you were going to see him tonight. Maybe now he'll calm down. He's been very excited about your arrival."

Good to be noticed.

"Now, it's not every day we get humans here, mature ones at least, so why don't you two make yourselves at home, before you begin on your quest?" The use of the word 'quest' filled Mac with dread. "I'll get food ready."

"No thanks," spluttered Mac.

"I realize you're in a hurry to meet Master Blooregard, but I insist you have something to eat. Maybe a bit of tea."

"Really, I just want to see Bloo."

A gigantic creature came through a doorway.

The second it appeared, Mac yelped in surprise, but that shock was lessened upon closer inspection of the specimen. It was a giant chicken leg. A giant chicken leg with sharp fangs, but still a giant chicken leg. The surprise subsided, Mac unleashed his kitchen knife, an appropriate weapon in this scenario.

"Calm yourself, Master Charlie!" cried Herriman to the chicken leg. "I know you don't take rejection well, but these are our guests!" The chicken leg backed away, and Herriman turned towards Mac's knife. "Master Mac, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but save your murderous intent for those more deserving of it." With that, Mac lowered his arm.

"Let's just eat," said Frankie, "It's best not to get these guys riled."

Herriman escorted the two humans to the dining room, which had the same gruesome grandeur the foyer had. More of those skeletal candelabras illuminated the massive table, and tapestries of leering faces adorned the walls. Both Mac and Frankie sat down to be greeted by plates of meat and mashed potatoes.

"And before you ask," said Herriman, raising a finger, "It's not poisoned. You are so paranoid."

"Yeah," said Mac, still not touching his food. "So, is Bloo coming down or…"

"No, if you want to have your chitter chatter with Master Blooregard, you have to go upstairs and find him yourself." Everything's weird, nothing's easy. "If you are going upstairs, you should really watch your step. Have you ever heard of 'the Otherworld'?"

Mac could only sigh. Now the weirdness was just getting annoying.

"It's the world that houses every thought that has ever been thought of, and it's where us imaginary friends go when our owners don't need us anymore." As Herriman spoke, Mac began to eat his dinner, just because Frankie was. "This house was built on a spot where the connection between the real world and Otherworld is at its weakest, so if you go upstairs, you may find yourself slipping into Otherworld a few times. It is such a disorganized place."

"Great," groaned Mac after swallowing some mashed potatoes.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to. Cheerio."

Herriman retreated upstairs, which was when Mac noticed one detail he hadn't noticed about Herriman before: he hopped around the house like most rabbits, but he also had **rusty bed-springs pierced to the soles of his feet.**

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Frankie said.

The duo decided on which part of the staircase to use, chose the left, (after Frankie told Mac she once used the right and it led to a pit of snakes; another of the Duchess' traps) and discovered it was as high as Mount Everest. As they climbed up the stairs, they turned their attention towards many large stained-glass windows depicting beheading, burning at the stake, hanging, throttling and other deaths and murders. Those windows weren't seen on the exterior of the household; Mac didn't want to give himself a headache thinking about it. After climbing for what seemed like hours, they came to a hallway.

The hallway seemed pointless; there was nothing there but windows and candles illuminating the way. However, Mac and Frankie were certain that there would be something at the end of this tunnel, so they walked on.

Rap, rap, rap.

It sounded like giant fingers drumming on the floor. But what was it?

Just as Mac chose to ignore the sound, he saw the shadow of what looked like an arm holding an axe on the wall and turned around.

Nothing.

Frankie had disappeared.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_The snarling, vengeful beast slowly approached the Bloo Superdude, licking its lips in grim anticipation. But the Superdude wasn't going to let this overgrown furball defeat him. No, he was the Superdude, the mightiest warrior in the world, not a weak little baby. With a single swipe of his sword, the beast was slain, and the Bloo Superdude could now enter the castle of the evil..._

"Master Blooregard!"

Bloo turned away from his story in an instant, and rushed to the speaker rattling on his bedroom wall.

"Mac's here?"

"Yes...he is. I must say, his attitude would be fine for our cause."

"Cool! I'll be down in a second!"

"No, no, Master Blooregard. We must let Master Mac find you. The rules are clear."

"Oh, fine then."

"Now, respect your elders, Master Blooregard." Bloo mimicked Herriman's command under his breath. "I heard that."

"Geez, you can't get away with anything in this place." Still, it would be worth it, if it meant seeing Mac again.

Excited by prospects of being reunited with his owner, Bloo returned to his exciting novel.

* * *

"Frankie? Frankie! _Frankie!_"

Mac darted around the empty corridor, immediately regretting coming to this place. What if some depraved imaginary friend had captured her and she was being murdered _right now_? Thoughts of Frankie being dropped inside the jaws of a hideous beast immediately entered his mind.

Where was she?

"MAC!"

The terrified scream came from behind Mac. He immediately turned to see Frankie's feet disappear from behind a corner of the hallway. Mac immediately rushed to where he last saw Frankie, only to see whatever had captured her had gotten away. They always do, don't they? At the end of the hallway were two wooden doors, each on a different wall, leaving Mac with a choice: Which one is Frankie in?

Mac's first choice was the door on the left. He pushed open the door hopefully, only to find a dimly-lit room with nothing but a figure in a rocking-chair, staring out the window.

Creak. Creeeeeeeak.

There was something about the sound of the rocking chair that seemed so sinister, so eerie, so…curious. Mac could have just left at that very moment and could have tried the other door, but he was just so tempted to see what this figure was, and what it was doing. This house may have frightened and frustrated him, but it also fascinated him in a way. Mac slowly approached the figure, wondering what its purpose was, and what it was going to do to him. Growing more curious about this…thing with every step he took, he slowly approached it, closer and closer until…

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

The creature in question looked like a giant brown beard. It wore a tattered hat, crawling with spiders. Its eyes were the size of soccer balls, bulging in pure insanity. It bore an insane grin revealing all of its yellow crooked teeth. Its arms were so thin they almost looked like arms of a juvenile stick figure doodle.

"Who are you, boy?".

"Um…Mac." Mac replied, looking for the right words to say to this lunatic.

"Mac? MAC! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Who would call their kid MAC!"

"Um...right."

The creature started touching Mac's hair for some unknown reason. "Your hair is nice, I think it look good on me," the creature continued, "I USED TO BE A BEAUTY QUEEN, YOU KNOW! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" That statement certainly showed how 'mad' this creature was, if you know what I mean.

"Anyway, are you working for the Duchess at all?"

"THE DUCHESS!" the creature cried, "AAGH, THE DUCHESS! MAN THE LIFEBOATS! RUN AWAY! RUN AWAY! I hate the Duchess! She drives me ROUND THE TWIST!" At that moment, the creature's eyes span around so much, they almost looked like they would fall off. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! BETTER WATCH OUT FOR HER! She's…MEAN! NASTY! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVIL!" It appeared the only purpose this poor monster served was to show the true evil of the Duchess' influence over former imaginary friends. At that point, Mac thought he should leave and try the other door, and perhaps forget about this little encounter.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" That laughter would haunt Mac until the day he dies.

Mac reached for the knob of the second door carefully, as he was almost certain a monster or a fearful creature would pop out of that door and bite his head off. Opening the door slightly, he took a quick peek, expecting to see a giant eyeball or rows of vicious fangs, but only saw _more_ doors. Oh _joy_. Opening the door completely, Mac stepped in, deciding which one, which one to pick.

"MAC! HELP!"

Frankie!

Mac attempted to figure out which of these myriad doors Frankie's tortured screams emitted from. It wasn't going to be easy, as there was almost definitely some_thing_ behind the wrong choices. Just when he contemplated giving up, Frankie's horrified screams persuaded him to continue, as he tried to determine where those sounds were coming from. While listening to Frankie's screams of pain and anguish, some_thing_ tugged on Mac's trouser leg, its unusual strength causing him to hit the hard floor face first. Mac heaved himself up and looked down on what had tripped him.

A small pink blob.

This blob in question was just about the only thing he had seen in this house that he couldn't call 'absolutely horrific'. It was shaped like a bowling pin, had feet like that of penguin, pink hair in pig-tails that blended in perfectly with the rest of it's body and eyes like that of a bush baby.

"Hello. I'm Berry." the miniature pink monster greeted Mac in an extremely saccharine voice, "Don't you want to play with me?"

"I've got to rescue my friend. I don't have time to play." Mac angrily replied.

"You," Berry began in her sweet voice, finishing with "_shall_!" in a grizzly growl.

How predictable. Nothing is cute in Foster's.

Berry's right hand grew gigantic, its fingers wrapped itself around Mac and took him to another room. The room in question looked like a typical little girl's bedroom on the surface, what with the pink wallpaper, the huge bed with stuffed animals and posters galore. But like everything in this crazy house, it was an underworld of nightmares. The posters depicted boy bands and famous male celebrities, but they were either headless, bore rotting flesh, or was being treated to some type of torture. The stuffed animals were cobras, werewolves, dragons and Cerberus. Oh, and those bloodstains in the corner may be an indicator this was not an innocent girl's room.

"This is my room, where I keep all my toys." Berry continued using her sweet voice, "Since you're here, maybe we can play with my dollies." Mac stared at the voodoo Barbie dolls in disgust.

"No, thanks." Mac turned down the offer calmly, "I've got to find Frankie. Oh, and I'm also looking for Bloo."

Berry was immediately silenced.

"Bloo? Did you say _Bloo_?"

"Well...yes…he's…"

"Bloo's…"

"…he's my…imaginary friend…"

"**BLOO'S MINE!**"

The walls of Berry's room became crimson, as Berry became more and more hideous. She grew into what looked like a huge lizard creature, touching the ceiling, taking up most of the room.

"**_DON'T LAY A FINGER ON BLOO IF YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR YOU_**!" Berry snarled, but continued in her 'cute voice', "He's so cute!"

Mac shuddered in the corner in trepidation. What type of depraved creature was this thing? She shocked him, yet he was soft of expecting everything she did. Mac actually felt his heart beat faster and faster as Berry slavered over him and snarled in fury. Acting quickly, Mac rummaged through everything in his backpack and decided to fight demonic power the 'old-fashioned way'- with his Bible. Berry actually hissed when he pulled it out, so Mac employed the idea further.

"In the Beginning there was the Word," Mac read rapidly, trying to suppress his fear, "and the Word was with God and the Word was God!" Scripture reading did make Berry shrink and hide in a corner, so Mac decided what he had read about was true.

"AAAAAGH!"

Mac dashed out of Berry's room, following the sound of Frankie's torment. He was certain he would find Frankie. He ran and ran, the screams getting louder and louder, reaching a door he was certain would contain…

"COCO, COCO!"

What suddenly flew out of the door Mac was approaching was an insane sky-blue bird, darting around the corridor like a remote-control plane. This bird had an eagle-like torso, with wizened feet looking like clawed hands. On top of the bird's head was what looked like thin green plant vines without leaves. Its blank eyes bulged as it observed Mac, and Mac noticed a nail jammed into its left eye, serving no purpose other than to make the thing look all the more ugly. It had a beak like that of a vulture, shaped so it looked like it had teeth.

"COCO!" it shrieked, "COCO!"

Coco, or whatever that thing was called, suddenly flew around Mac as if it was trying to peck Mac's eyes out. As Mac attempted to get rid of this flying freak, he saw Frankie getting out from behind a door, who explained that Coco was attacking her and that's why she was screaming. The statements actually encouraged Mac to fight Coco, as he would never forgive himself if anything happened to Frankie. As Coco darted towards Mac in hopes of plucking out an eyeball or two, Mac immediately grabbed its beak in his hand, clutching as tightly as possible. In an unexpected manner, Coco's beak actually detached itself from its head. As Mac pondered about how this could have possibly happened, the disembodied beak began biting Mac's fingers. Mac flailed his hand about wildly, trying to get rid of the mutant beak. Using his free hand, he pried the beak open, dropping it on the floor. The beak hopped around in a demented manner until Mac broke it to pieces by crushing it with his foot.

Coco stared at Mac angrily, vicious that it had lost its precious beak. It began a new mode of attack: the vines on its head. Coco's vines wrapped around Mac, flinging him across the walls, leaving him with a massive headache. Of course, this was the cue for Mac to take out the knife he had brought with him, that worked excellently with Eduardo, but wouldn't merely frighten this fiend. If the bird still had its beak, it would have screamed in pain as Mac hacked through its vines. It tried again to capture Mac with the vicious vines, but Mac hacked each of them, one by one, driven by thoughts of Frankie and Bloo. He struck a victorious pose as every one of Coco's vines were completely hacked off.

Thump.

Whatever it was, was dead

Mac breathed heavily, looking upon the imaginary friend's corpse half in victory, half in shock.

"You had to kill it," said Frankie.

"Yeah, I…guess…I had to," said Mac. "Still…I…_killed_…"

"You had to. This is no time for moral dilemmas. Do you want to find Bloo or not?" Mac said nothing. "I'll take that as a yes, let's go!" Grabbing Mac by the arm, Frankie forced Mac to continue his search for his childhood friend. They walked through another door, which led to _more_ doors. Go figure.

"Do you think any of those doors leads to 'Otherworld'?" Mac asked.

"Hope not," said Frankie, "I've never been there but I've heard about it and it sounds even more fucked up than this house."

"What do you know about it?"

"Let's not talk about it, let's focus on Bloo."

So Mac walked down the hallway, trying to figure which of these doors could help him inch a tiny bit closer to finding that blobbish friend of his. So, having somehow lost his common sense for a minute, he opened a random door to seed if that would help, and all he saw was a bathroom. He instantly closed that door when he saw the eyes peering from the bowl.

Another door. Through this one was a gigantic owl, sitting seemingly in deep thought. Mac chose not to disturb it.

Third time's the charm. Behind another door sat a unicorn, and Mac just knew what was coming next. Yep, the unicorn's eyes bulged and saliva dripped from its fanged mouth. A close of the door and it rested.

"Well, we're getting nowhere," said Mac, turning to Frankie.

"Um, Mac…"

Another figure. Another weird figure. This one was gigantic, about eight feet high. Its skin was completely red, and it had a red beard that blended in with the rest of its head perfectly. One of its eyes stuck out on a stalk on top of its head, with a spinning spiral within and the other looked like a green one-eyed caterpillar jumping out of its skull. Its mouth was in a hideous snarl, revealing rows of green crooked teeth. The creature looked anorexic and emaciated, so much so that you could actually make out its ribcage, its hips and arm bones. It only had one arm, its right, which was clutched in a fist. Its legs were six thin tentacles, so it almost looked like Squidward from Spongebob Squarepants. When the red creature laid eyes on the two, he gave a friendly smile and spoke in a surprisingly cheerful tone:

"Hey, how ya doing, my name's Wilt."


	6. Chapter 666

**Chapter 6**

Mac slowly backed away from the haggard creature, staring at him half in disgust, half in amazement. Out of all the creatures he had seen at Foster's, this thing had to be one of the most atrocious and sinister-looking. But still, the red beast was actually trying to be friendly, which is more than the other imaginary friends could say. Mac just stared in awe at the tall smiling figure.

"Yeah," Wilt continued, "you may think I'm scary, what with the missing arm, this thing acting as my second eye, my green teeth, my tentacles, my emaciation…"

"And you've got the number of the devil on your chest as well," Mac added, only just noticing the three sixes on Wilt's chest, which looked like they were 'drawn on' by a knife.

"That thing doesn't mean anything," Wilt said, which made Mac raise an eyebrow, "I'm not one of the bad guys here."

"Um, Mac," Frankie told Mac, "that thing captured me and tried to make that bird eat me. I don't think we can trust it."

Wilt's smile grew wider, so much it almost took up his entire face. "You can trust me. I did NOT want to put you in with that wacko bird. Truth be told, I don't really like that Duchess; in the big book of what's OK and what's not OK, she is _extremely_ not OK!"

"I don't know…" Frankie replied.

"And," Wilt continued, his gleaming smile still as wide as ever, "I can help you find Bloo."

"Can you?" Mac said.

"Yeah, I know this place like the back of my hand."

"OK," Mac said.

"OK, OK, I won't try to kill you. I'm not some lunatic. Now follow me."

Wilt turned around and slithered down the hallway, his tentacles making the sound Mac had heard earlier when he entered this vicious mansion, which made him freeze right onn the spot.

"What have we to lose?" Frankie said as both found themselves following the disturbing red figure.

Before all this malarkey, Mac had lamented to himself about not having much in terms of companionship. Now, here was someone all too willing to help him and it was a creature from Hades. From what Mac could tell, it was nicer than most of the people he had encountered in his lifetime. He knew he could trust Frankie, she had that warm aura about her, but something was off about Wilt. It wasn't his appearance, he should have expected Wilt to look like that. No, it was something different than that.

"You know, Mac," said Wilt in his charming voice that felt wrong coming from a creature with his appearance. "I think it's really great that you're going through all this trouble for your imaginary friend. I mean, I'm sorry, but so many people forget about their imaginary friends, so it's good that there are people like you who actually want to help your friend."

"Well, um, me and Bloo did have some good times together…"

"Yeah, so did me and my owner. It seems so long ago…"

"What was your owner like?"

"You know," said Frankie, "Maybe we should focus on looking for Bloo."

They travelled through the hallways for what seemed like hours on end, going up and down staircases, passing strange décor, going in and out of door after door until…

Not _him_ again.

As they were passing through a hallway, _SMASH!_, Eduardo made his triumphant return, leaping through a window, sending shattered glass flying all over the place. Eduardo's eyes narrowed as he viewed his hapless victims, just standing there in shock, ready to be devoured. Mac immediately began to reach for something in his backpack, but before he even took it off his back, it was too late. Eduardo had leapt onto Mac pinning him down on the ground. The demonic canine slobbered over Mac, thinking of nothing but how _delicious_ Mac's flesh must be.

Before Eduardo's first bite, Wilt immediately came to the rescue, grabbing the salivating beast with his sole arm. As Wilt held Eduardo up to his face, Eduardo began simpering and whining, expecting pity, like most dogs do. His ferocious red eyes became more sympathetic, his meekness showing once again.

"I'm not buying it." Wilt told the wolf-like creature. Soon, Wilt began bouncing Eduardo like a basketball, and immediately threw the beast out the broken window.

"Sorry, big bad wolf," Wilt laughed, shouting from up above, "you better leave Grandma alone!"

"Um, well done!" said Mac.

"No prob!" said Wilt, "Put it there!" So Mac found himself giving Wilt a high five, and didn't why he did it.

Wilt continued to lead the way around the demented house that Foster once owned, and they soon came to a long hallway, complete with portraits of what Mac assumed to be family members. Wilt eventually stopped in his tracks and, using his only arm, pointed to a blue door.

'_Good, you're finally here…_'

The voices…

This was definitely Bloo's room. I mean, the door was a dead giveaway, but where else would he hear 'the old Bloo' speaking to him?

As Mac took a deep breath and began to enter Bloo's room, Frankie tried to enter the room with him but was stopped by Wilt's semi-skeletal arm blocking her way.

"I think Mac should do this by himself." Wilt claimed, his voice sounding more gruff and hoarse.

"But…Mac's my friend and I want…"

"**_SHUT UP BITCH!_**"

Grabbing a rusty hatchet that came out of nowhere, he did _it_.

Slicing through skin, muscle, bone and cartilage…

Blood, blood everywhere…

She's dead.

Beheaded.

Laughter.

Wilt's vicious, insane laughter echoing throughout the hallways.

While he thought he was getting used to the chaos this house was throwing at him, Mac still stood there, silent, when he saw the deed. Just like that, someone who had made a quick and odd entrance into his life had left just as instantly. Someone who he had chatted with and saved from a hyperactive bird was now nothing but a lifeless, bloody body. Wilt's laughter just propelled the shock.

Fortunately, the laughter stopped. "I'm sorry," said Wilt, "I just tend to lose my temper sometimes. Now, how about Bloo, eh?"

Mac still didn't move. He still stared at Frankie's corpse, and swore it turned into that of his father for a minute. The silence in the hallways was broken by the sobbing of his mother. His poor mother, who had lost her husband. Who wanted revenge. Whose misery was laughed at.

"C'mon, Mac, what ya standin' around for?"

Mac had a duty.

"Mac…"

"_Shut up_!"

An unseen force made Mac run towards Wilt and grab his six tentacles. TIMBER! Wilt fell to the floor like a tree after being chopped down, dropping his weapon. Mac immediately rushed to the hatchet and held it in his hand. There was something satisfying about just holding the weapon, so Mac savored having it in his possession before Wilt arose.

"I'm sorry, but you can't do that!" Wilt cried, becoming less of 'a nice guy' every second, "Give that back right now!"

"Or what?"

Wilt gave a bloodthirsty roar and grabbed Mac's shirt with his bony claw, lifting him up so their faces met. Wilt then gave a demonstration of his strength by hurling Mac to the end of the hallway, worsening the latter's headache.

"I have been given so much power," Wilt growled, "Even without that axe I can still destroy you."

"I told you to shut up," said Mac, as he put Wilt's hatchet to good use, swiping at the gangly creature rapidly. His swipes may have been random, but he noticed that he was slicing off Wilt's tentacles with each attack.

Wilt fell to the floor once again, this time on his back, green blood gushing out of where his tentacles once were. As Wilt tried to get away without his legs, he laid eyes on Mac approaching him, holding the hatchet.

Wilt was scared. The big nasty monster was scared.

Yes. Mum would be so proud.

Chop.

What happened to Frankie happened to Wilt.

Wilt's green blood covered the floor.

Another imaginary friend murdered by Mac.

He killed Wilt. He didn't use his Bible, he didn't try to use reason, he just went and did to Wilt what the huge red thing had done to Frankie. Sure, Wilt may have seen nice, and he may have done away with Eduardo, but that was obviously trickery. Demons are tricksters, everyone knows that, and Wilt was a demon. He wasn't an imaginary friend, he was the spawn of Satan. So Mac had every right to feel proud of his death. He swore he felt an iota of guilt, but he was probably just pretending to be guilty because he was so surprised that he felt proud at killing.

Questions, questions.

"Ah, Mac, good to see you could come." Mac then noticed Bloo approaching slowly down the hallway. "Come to my room."

Mac was then taken to Bloo's room, through the blue door. Yes, all the walls, the ceiling and the floor were all blue, albeit each panel was a different shade. In the corner was a bed that looked like it was surrounded by a cemetery fence, a chiffonier with a novelty dancing cactus on top of it, a sole window overlooking a swirling grey vortex and… **A BLOODY SKINNED CORPSE DANGLING FROM THE CEILING WITH A HOOK PIERCED THROUGH IT'S MOUTH.**

"Bloo…" Mac asked nervously as he saw the corpse, feeling like he was about to vomit, "Did…you…"

"Nah, one of the other imaginary friends just gave it to me as a decoration…" Bloo then noticed Wilt's axe in Mac's hand and backed away. "Are you gonna kill me with that?"

"What? No, I just got it off this huge red thing…"

"You mean Wilt?"

"Yeah…he killed Frankie…"

"I'll let you in on a secret, Mac." Bloo explained, "You see, only the Duchess has authority to kill imaginary friends. When you think you've killed one of them, they're just…how shall I say…pretending. _They're still alive and kicking._"

Mac slammed the door open and stared at where Wilt was.

He was gone.

He had gone and dragged away Frankie's carcass with him.

The laughter.

Mac heard the laughter echo through the halls once again.

Wilt's laughter.

He's alive.

And then there's Coco…

Was that a "COCO!" he just heard?

"Yeah, the evil imaginary friends are still alive, ready to commit more evil acts, what ya gonna do," Bloo continued, "Now back to the matter at hand."

Mac stood in silence once again.

"Um, hello?" Bloo waved his arms.

"What…the…fuck…" Mac gasped out.

"Um, Mac…" Bloo floated right up to Mac's face. "I wanna talk to you!"

"O…kay..then…" Mac swallowed and took a few deep breaths. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I just thought you might want to _join us_." After Bloo said that sentence, his left eye became a twisted grin.

Mac's expression became one of tension. "What!"

"Think this through." Bloo told Mac, "We'll be together again, imaginary friend and creator, fighting on the same side, supporting each other in the heat of battle, doing our duties and appeasing the Duchess. We'll be like Dumb and Dumber."

"Bloo," Mac blurted, "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you? You think I _liked_ all the shit I went through just to see you? You think I _like_ this place? It's…it's _Pee Wee's Playhouse_ from Hell! I've just had to fight this sugar-high chicken, faced this huge beard thing, was almost killed by this pink blob…"

"Heather?"

"Whatever! Just now I've seen someone die, and I've killed someone and _enjoyed_ it!"

"Good!"

"Just shut up!"

"Mac, I'm hurt! We haven't seen in each other for years, and this is how you treat me? Aren't you pleased to see me? I'm trying to help you!"

Mac inhaled some more. "I'm not…joining you

"C'mon," Bloo continued, "You'll obtain more power than you can ever imagine. You could do whatever you want and you could have whatever you want. You'd be stupid to turn this down."

"BLOO!" Mac cried, "I don't want to be part of this army or whatever it is! I don't want to kill!"

"Then you're stupid." That eye blew a raspberry. "You're stupid, you're stupid," Bloo sang as he circled around Mac.

"I've just come to here to fight this spell you're under and make those voices shut up."

Bloo's left eye became a toothy grin once more. "Fine." Bloo snickered, "Then you'll have to fight the Duchess herself. Only then will you be able to destroy this." Bloo then held up a photo of what looked like a gigantic brain attached to large electric wires.

"What the hell?"

"The Dark Mind." Bloo told Mac, "The very object that gives the Duchess power over us imaginary friends. Destroy it, and we'll be free."

**_YES! THIS IS WHAT I WANT TO DO!_**

Mac imagined what would happen if Bloo was free from the monstrous bewitchment. They'd be friends again, they would share some good times together, and there would be a ray of sunshine in Mac's otherwise dreary, despondent world. He wouldn't have to kill anymore, he wouldn't have to fight for some evil cause.

"I'll do it." Mac told Bloo proudly. This statement immediately caused Bloo to pull down a lever, hidden behind the chiffonier.

A trap door opened under Mac's feet.

A trap door in a haunted house.

How predictable.

Mac fell down, down into the inky darkness.

Falling, falling…

As he fell, Bloo looked down, actually caring about what his former master was going through.

* * *

Wilt dragged Frankie's corpse down the corridor, her head dangling from his uneven teeth by the hair.

Oh yes, what fun! Lulling that boy into a state of false security, and then shattering it in an instant. Oh, he might even be driven _insane_! How delightful!

Wait…

He stopped for a minute and stared at the body he was being forced to carry.

He didn't see a bloody corpse. He didn't see a headless carcass.

He saw…

_An innocent young girl…_

_Playing in the park…_

_Laughing…_

"NO!" Wilt screamed to himself as he slammed his axe into Frankie's heart.

"Wait 'til Mac sees what we have planned…"

"That's the spirit…" came the female voice from behind Wilt.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"_Mum, Dad, meet my new best friend, Bloo."_

"_Bloo, you're funny!"_

"_Terrence, leave me and Bloo alone!"_

"_You're my best friend."_

_My best friend…_

_Why…_

_Mac…_

_My friend…_

_What have I done?_

After viewing Mac make his rapid descent to where the Duchess lurked, Bloo floated on over to the window and watched that vortex swirl about. Watching that vortex was repetitive, but it was also fascinating. It could be seen as a stimulus for the imagination; imagine someone getting sucked into that vortex. How would he react? Would he like it? Where does that vortex lead anyway?

Wait, he knew where that vortex lead. It lead to Otherworld. He hated that place. Staying there for so many years was dull. Who would have thought a world crafted from imagination could be so tedious? Bloo had a pretty big imagination of his own, but he could do nothing about the landscape or nature of Otherworld. It still stayed a plain, grey place no matter what he thought. The ruler of that place demanded the imaginary friends that end up in that world stay in a building of some kind, where they are subjected to routine.

What a jerk he was. That 'Hatter' or whatever his name was.

Sometimes Bloo wished Mac was there in Otherworld with him…Mac.

"Oh great, I'm having a moral dilemma. I really hoped I wouldn't have one of those after my transformation." But he did. And how could he not?

He and Mac were always so close…they were the best of friends. Bloo remembered standing by Mac as they drew happy crayon drawings of them together, happily standing in a field made of green squiggles, bathed in the light of the smiling sun. Bloo would always tell Mac he was such a great artist and watched as his work was mounted on the refrigerator gallery.

Then there was all the times that Terrence person would pick on them; Bloo would call him a big doofus, and Mac would repeat every one of those insults, to make sure Terrence got them through his thick head. One time Terrence told them, "I don't need no stupid imaginary friend of my stupid little brother telling me how stupid I am! For I know exactly how stupid I -" and then he cried "SHUT UP!" when he realised his mistake. Classic.

Bloo was with Mac on all his special occasions. Riding his first tricycle, all his birthday parties, moving up from nursery school. Mac grew up. Bloo helped him grow up. Bloo was his companion through life. Bloo helped him through tough times, Bloo made him smile when he felt he needed to, and Bloo stuck with him forever.

But it was all gone.

That happy world, that happy life, those happy stories…

Gone.

Turning away from the swirling vortex, Bloo remembered his official entry into the real world. He would never forget how it felt when he was brought into this world. He had something of a physical existence in Otherworld, but it still didn't feel as real as that day had done. He still had the memories. Memories given to him by Mac. Memories of how much they loved each other and how close we were. The first thing he had on his mind was to locate Mac and have their happy life again. But before he could even leave…

It happened.

He felt it. It was so painful, so horrific. Thoughts of Mac and what he meant were quickly erased, replaced with pure hatred and thoughts of murder. Bloo grew larger and his features became more horrific. His mouth shrunk into nothingness, his arms elongated and shriveled, and his eyes bulged out of their sockets.

He was no longer Bloo. He was no longer the happy playful showy blue Pac-Man ghost Mac was friends with. He had become some horrific spectre from Hell, the embodiment of every child's nightmare…

And he loved it.

"Wow, this is awesome!" He flew around the room like an aeroplane, waving his new arms about, growling like an overreacting fairy tale villain. Yes, this was fun. Evil was fun. "Hey, who are you?"

"Call me Duchess." she told me, "I am your new master."

"Okay."

"I'm glad you enjoy your new form. It will be of much use to you in the forthcoming battles."

"Cool! I'm going to fight? Will I get a laser gun?"

"You'll get something better."

"Yay!"

"As for now, you should join the other imaginary friends. Some training will begin soon."

"Fine."

So off he went for some exercise, and all thoughts of Mac went away.

Then there was the night Mac's father died by his hands. The Duchess said she only wanted the father dead so she could laugh at how sad and miserable the mother would be. Why would she want to laugh at the mother's misery? Who cared? It was fun, nonetheless.

Bloo still remembered entering the house and seeing the father sleeping, about to be murdered through no fault of his own. All it took was a slit to the throat with the sharp, bony finger, and he died, quietly, quickly.

Of course, Bloo immediately went into a 'what have I done' mood about it, his shame immediately overpowered by his new killer instinct. He was a new man (in some sense). He was a weapon. He was powerful.

Those three thoughts repeated themselves in his mind as he left Mac's former home, leaving not a clue.

Then when he finally met Mac after all these years, he told him to come to Foster's house, the horrid hell-hole where innocent imaginary friends were made into murderers. Now Mac was off to fight the Duchess, all for dear little Bloo. Now that's dedication.

"Maybe I could lend a hand. Wait, should I?

"I mean, he forgot me! He threw me out like yesterday's garbage! He doesn't deserve my pity! You don't forget the mighty Blooster and get away with it! Even Mum told him I should be given up. Stupid whore. Should have killed her."

No, no, **NO!**

There was something about Mac. Despite his grumpiness, despite how he's been acting, he was bringing back the memories that had previously vanished. All of the friends in the house wished they could have their creators back, so Bloo getting his back should be an opportunity. Mac needed aid, and Bloo was going to provide it.

Plus, it would be a great chance to prove to the other friends how great he was.

_I must do something…_

* * *

"Ah, Master Mac, we meet again."

Mac met Herriman again at the moment he fell down the trap door. The mutant rabbit, holding a candelabra in his skeletal hand, looked over the human with interest.

"OK, Herriman," said Mac, emerging off the floor and slapping the dust off his clothes. "I've had enough of this."

"I didn't think you would make it this far." the gigantic rodent continued in a rather grim voice, which grew more grave with each word he spoke, "Follow me. The Duchess awaits." Mac was led down a corridor more cold and damp then the others he had been through. The walls, ceiling and floors were made out of dark grey stone, giving the feel of a medieval dungeon. The way was lit by the typical fiery torches, held by skeletal claws and the walls boasted tapestries depicting lizards, snakes and corpses. This hallway was dominated by a harsh wind, which made Mac clutch to himself for warmth.

As Mac followed Herriman down this cave, they entered a gallery. This was not your typical gallery made to showcase only the finest works of art. For example, the walls were made out of what Mac hoped were statues of severed heads. They were gold, yet they looked a little _too_ realistic. The paintings themselves portrayed the various monsters and nightmares Mac had met, and they were changing in a way you'd expect only to see at Disneyland. Showing what could have been how their children originally imagined them transforming into their present selves.

A strange purple dodo-like creature with a palm tree growing out of it's head became Coco. A big teddy bear with giant horns and fangs became Eduardo. Berry performed her trademark metamorphosis Mac had witnessed earlier. Bloo even had his own portrait, the painted eyes boring into Mac's soul. The only painting that didn't transform however, was one of the lunatic hairy creature that liked his rocking chair. Mac tried to ignore it, but in a way that would be mildly amusing if it was on television, the maniac popped out of the painting and almost drove Mac insane with his laughter.

"**DON'T FIGHT THE DUCHESS**!" the hairy madman cried, flailing his arms wildly, "She's mad! Mad! **_MAD_**!"

Look who's talking.

"Shut up, I don't have the time." Mac growled.

"You don't have any time left! It's all over! You're dead dead _dead_!" the beard said. "**GAME OVER MAN! GAME OVER! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA**!"

He didn't really do anything different from the last time Mac saw him.

"Ignore Pete." Herriman said, "He's…a wacko. Let's concentrate on the Duchess."

Mac was led through the grisly gallery until he came across another castle door, which opened to reveal a roller-coaster car.

He came across another castle door, which opened to reveal **A ROLLER-COASTER CAR.**

**OH COME ON!**

The whole ordeal had felt like some sick haunted house ride at some fairground, and now this. Where's the evil bumper cars? Still, at least he was back to just being annoyed at the house's machinations, rather than horrified.

The roller coaster car in question was painted pitch black with two angry red eyes at the front. As Mac entered the car, he immediately saw Wilt, with Coco on his shoulder, leaning over a lever.

Laughter.

Wilt performed his usual insane laugh, while Coco tried to imitate him with the repeated use of the word 'Coco'.

Soon, the lever was pulled.

Mac burst through two doors into a strange world. There was nothing there but a huge grey vortex and the roller-coaster tracks. Otherworld. As he set off on the ride of his life, he immediately encountered strange sights floating around him, which he was certain he had seen in nightmares. A disembodied hand pulling the skin off a disembodied head, revealing muscle. A man pulling a chainsaw out of his stomach and using it to decapitate himself. A woman being strangled with her own hair. A man taking his brain out of his head and eating it.

Disgusting, horrific, distorted, warped…

And that was just the first few things he saw.

Mac didn't know what to think of this demented ghost train he was travelling through. Was it his worst nightmares given flesh? Were they fantasies of some insane person? Were they what was going on in the Duchess' mind? Who knows?

Soon the revolting ride came to a stop and Mac found himself on a metal platform, levitating in the vortex. Mac immediately began looking for the Duchess. She HAD to be here.

"Hello, Mac. I was hoping you would be coming."

That was the deep feminine voice Mac heard out of nowhere.

Mac unleashed his knife. "OK, 'Duchess'. Where are you? Show yourself?"

"With pleasure."

Out of nowhere, came the Duchess, the one responsible for all this mess.

"What!"

Out of nowhere, came the Duchess, who was, without a drop of blood on her, Frankie Foster.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

It was true. Frankie was the one behind this whole ordeal. She was the one who had brought Mac here, the tornado which had led him to this demented Oz. And she was the Duchess. It did make sense, in a way. Pure evil and torment were reflected in her dreary eyes, and her raven hair was flowing in a sinister manner. Behind her was the Dark Mind, attached to large wires, coming from two stone pillars depicting skeletons and demons.

"But…" Mac stuttered, shocked at this revelation, "Wilt killed you, I saw it."

"It was all an optical ill-oo-sion." Frankie informed Mac, wiggling her fingers like a poor man's magician, "I know I'm human and the rules of imaginary friends shouldn't probably apply to me, but the **power** I have been given…"

To demonstrate her power, she raised her fist into the air, which burst into blue flame.

Mac stood back, shuddering in the corner in fear and disbelief. At this moment, he actually was wishing to go back to his humdrum life without excitement. If he hadn't been pulled into this whole thing, he would be watching _Will and Grace _right now instead of facing a horrific witch who he thought was his friend. Only one word managed to escape his lips at that moment:

"Why?"

The blue flame disappeared, and Frankie dropped her fist and gave a friendly smile.

"I might as well tell you what this is about." Frankie replied, "I mean, this thing's not _entirely_ my doing." As Mac was wondering what Frankie meant by that, she cleared her throat authoritatively and began her tale.

"You see, Mac, for years I had been in the same boat as you. A regular, bland, human being with a regular, bland, human life. I had always wished for some ground-breaking exciting thing to happen to me, but I was a prisoner in this dull world. I had a job at the local Co-Op and I lived in some run-down flat. My leisure time was spent just listening to Iron Maiden and Marilyn Manson. Like you, I dreamed of having a childhood again. Back then, everything was exciting. The first time you did something, all those happy stories and movies where you wanted the hero to win and get his princess, and of course, your imaginary friend. But alas, I was doomed to live in a dreary world, only hoping for a better life.

"All that was about to change."

Frankie's smile grew wider. "For this portion of the tale, you'd be better experiencing it for yourself."

Frankie's fingers stretched and began to wave around like the arms of inflatable mascots. They then reached Mac's head and began to burrow deep within his brain, letting him watch the story unfold.

_Frankie is making her way down to the Foster House. It's not haunted, it's not creepy, it's a normal-looking house in a normal-looking neighborhood. She wants nothing more but to bring a warm smile to her grandmother's face, to let her know that someone out there supports her and her ploy to bring imaginary friends to life. Madam Foster doesn't like being laughed at. She doesn't like being persecuted. She just wants people to love her and to make children happy._

_The door is opening. Madam Foster should be behind that door. She should be laughing. She should be hugging her granddaughter._

_But that's not Madam Foster._

_That's…that's…who is that?_

_He's wearing grey trousers, a grey coat, a grey hat, and his entire face is shielded with his hat and coat. He's lifting his head up…and…and…_

_What is under that coat is a face that was totally pitch-black…except for his eyes. The eyes are a fiery yellow with two black pupils that looked like small pieces of coal._

_His stare…it's taking me – Frankie – away._

_I am in a wonderful, sparkling mansion, where the walls are gold and there is money, jewels and jewellery scattered all over the place. There are butlers serving all over the place, and on a wall, there are shining trophies of every shape and size. In this mysterious house is everything. There is so much … but I can't even begin to describe it; it's just that wonderful. _

_I've died and gone to Heaven._

_Now it's gone. Frankie's back in the Foster House with the weird man._

_He's talking._

'_You see, Frankie, when I first heard about your grandmother using sorcery to bring imaginary friends to life, it gave me a great idea. If imaginary friends could be brought to life, I could mould them into my own image, make them fierce, cold-blooded warriors and build the greatest army the world has ever known. I would win every war, defeat every opponent and build an empire. So, being the expert in the field of witchcraft that I am, I decided to assist your grandmother in her dream.'_

_If you're an expert in the field of witchcraft, why don't you bring the imaginary friends to life yourself?_

'_I found out that if you decide to make an army of imaginary friends, they need a human leader, as they have helped humans in the past. As powerful as I am, I'm not…human in the traditional sense of the word.'_

_Run away, Frankie, **RUN AWAY.**_

'_I feel that your grandmother shouldn't lead the army. She's too naïve, and she wants to use the imaginary friends so she can open a home for them so every kid can have one. Sickens me to the core. But you. I can see into your soul and I can see that you have so much potential to lead. And you will have so much power.'_

_Don't listen to him._

'_Kill your grandmother, Frankie.'_

_Don't._

'_Kill. Her.'_

_No, no, you're doing it, don't do it don't._

'_Do it do it DO IT!'_

_She has a knife OH CRAP SHE HAS A KNIFE Madam Foster is so sweet she's saying hi hi Frankie how are you im gonna kill you granny stab stab_

**_AARGH!_**

_She's happy._

_She's laughing._

**_HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA_**

_They're practising spells. They're creating the Dark Mind. They're bringing the imaginary friends to life and making them twisted versions of themselves. Their transformations give them more power and make them more obedient to their will except for one who goes **InSAnE.**_

He heard Frankie's voice echo through his skull.

"One day, my magical mentor gave me a suggestion: our army should have a few human members. He thought that if the imaginary friends were to fight alongside their original owners, it would make them more confident in battle and more humans would follow his teachings. He told me in order to bring humans into our army, we had to get the imaginary friends to kill their owners' families and friends so the owner would have some reason to get revenge against us. Then I, or one of the imaginary friends would lure the owner to our house where his skills in combat would be tested. I had doubts about this idea, but he reminded me, '_You can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs._'

"Now, Mac, it's your turn. To tell you the truth, Bloo has been asking me to let you join my army for so long. I loved your fighting skills when you fought Coco and Wilt. So I'm giving you a choice. _Join me_…"

All of a sudden, Wilt appeared out of nowhere, his red face in a hideous snarl.

"…or face the consequences."

Wilt lifted Mac above the air using his one arm, and requested his hatchet back. Mac almost forgot that he had put Wilt's weapon in his backpack, and after being put down, he took it out and handed it back to the emaciated demon.

"What's _he_ doing here?" Mac questioned Frankie.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Frankie explained, "Wilt was originally _my_ imaginary friend. He's my second-in-command." When Mac asked about 'the voices', Frankie replied, "I used my power to block them out. And soon they will be blocked from your mind too, Mac. All you have to do is become a part of my army."

Mac point blank refused.

How could he part of such a heartless scheme to create war and destroy peace? He couldn't join forces with such a demonic creature that transformed his 'cute, little imaginary friend' into a spectre from the pits of Hades, and all the time masqueraded as an ally?

"Before you refuse my offer," Frankie continued, "Remember your benefits package." Right before Mac's very eyes, the wonderful mansion Frankie had been shown had appeared.

He would get all _this_?

Everything he wanted was in this mansion. The more he explored this strange new place, the more tempting Frankie's offer was.

"You don't deserve to be rotting away in some flat with a dead-end job, with your potential eternally ignored. You have potential, and this is the only way that potential will be fulfilled. You don't want to be ignored for the rest of your life, do you? The world has given enough shit; it's time you showed it what you are made of. A life with me will give you things you could never obtain in your mortal life. Just imagine ruling by my side…"

Mac could hear Frankie's voice from outside. Maybe there was a chance he could change his life for the better…

"NO MAC IT'S A TRAP!"

Bloo suddenly appeared out of nowhere, flailing his bony arms frantically.

"Mac, I couldn't…" Bloo tried to explain, "I just felt something wasn't right…you were my friend…I don't want you to end up like me."

While Bloo appeared to be trying to find the right words, Mac understood his intentions entirely. He had come to set Bloo free from the house's beastly influence, and it seemed like he had succeeded in that goal.

As the wonderful mansion with it's many wonderful surprises disappeared, Mac and Bloo were staring into the murderous eyes of Wilt. Wilt was scowling at the duo, saliva dripping off his crooked green teeth.

"I'm sorry but, you do know what happens if you reject the Duchess' offers, do you?" Wilt growled in a vicious manner, nearing Mac and Bloo until they reached the edge of the floating platform. Of course, if Mac fell off, Bloo could just fly him to safety, so Wilt grabbed Bloo by the neck and flung him to the ground. As for Mac, Wilt pulled out his legendary hatchet from thin air, raised it above his head and…

Hesitated.

He stared at Frankie, then at Bloo, then back at Mac.

"OK, Wilt, you can do this." Wilt mumbled to himself, then raised the axe above his head once more, grinning like a psychotic clown.

Hesitation again.

The hatchet fell down onto the ground and Wilt fell down on his knees.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Come on, what are you waiting for?"

Frankie was crying out for something to be done, and it was Wilt's duty to make sure what she wanted done was done. Wilt always did what Frankie demanded, because she needed him to do it. What would she do without him?

But there was something about Mac and Bloo. Bloo was looking out for Mac and trying to save his creator. Mac had gone through a nightmare of a house just to reclaim his imaginary friend.

Frankie had gone through a lot too. Now she was finally getting what she wanted, and allowing Wilt to have a new kind of fun. Yes, killing was fun, so killing Mac should be fun. Right?

He didn't kill Mac. He just stared and remembered a different time. Back when he wasn't a brutal killing machine.

Back then, Frankie was a lonely child. She just wanted someone to talk to and to play basketball with. She was actually quite fond of the game, having watched Jordan Michaels' games countless times, and was longing to play with the others at school. They laughed, with cries of 'no girls allowed' and all that sort of thing.

All she wanted was a good friend, somebody who would play with her, somebody who has polite, kind and friendly, somebody who she would care for forever…

Wilt.

She had modeled him after Jordan, very loosely. He was red and furry, with a large blue '1' imprinted on his chest. He actually had two arms at the time of his birth, which were extremely long, each one with a red, white and blue wristband. His two eyes were on stalks, and two tufts of fur stuck out from each side of his head. Two eminent legs supported him, rather than six tentacles, and he wore white socks and black trainers. Frankie called him Wilt, after Wilt Chamberlin. He was imagined as the quintessential basketball player, as well as being loving.

And he was loved.

Staring at Bloo getting off the floor, Wilt remembered playing basketball with the younger Frankie, using the cheap baskets in her garden. He would never forget the orange ball bouncing up and down from her small hand, and the way she leapt, the ball falling into the basket gracefully. He was her confidence, giving her training and support which helped her play. Then there were all those PE lessons, where she played with great self-assurance, being an asset to the team as a whole, because she knew he was watching her, his gigantic smile reminding her of what he meant to her.

He was there during PE and sport. But he also tried to be a big help with anything she needed aid with, and whatever he could think of. He helped her obtain the marks she needed in school, and was with her as she studied. There was also the time he helped her build up the confidence for the audition for that Wizard of Oz play. She at first wanted to play Dorothy, but ended up playing the Wicked Witch (oh, the irony.) As much as he wished he could have been in that play, but at that time he was an imaginary friend, so it was impossible. Still, there were the memories of her asking me for support, and her acting her role perfectly on the big night, for she knew he was in the audience.

Then there was the night Frankie needed him the most.

Her parents. They had…died. They…they had gone out for a Valentines Day dinner…thank God Frankie hadn't come; she was with Wilt and a babysitter…they were…they were assaulted…shot…_I wasn't there but I can hear the sound the gun made_…Frankie was crying…there were police cars everywhere….Wilt despised this memory, but still had to relive it when looking at Mac. Still, that was the time they were the closest. He may not have been really there, but he still had the image of him hugging her fixed in his mind.

"I love you, Wilt."

Anyway, soon Frankie and Wilt were sent to live with Madam Foster, Frankie's kind old grandmother, in her then-glorious mansion. Madam Foster was the best. She made such scrumptious cookies. Better than that, she admired the fact that Frankie had an imaginary friend, and always told stories about her old imaginary friend: Herriman, the funny bunny.

"Hippity, hoppity, my tail is quite fluffy, my ears are quite floppity. I sing and I dance and you can't make me stoppity. Said funny bunny, to sweet little girl."

That was part of the song 'Funny Bunny' constantly sang to his delightful owner. Wilt and Frankie would have a good giggle over it, and repeat parts of the song to ourselves. It was just the thing to brighten their lives.

If only Funny Bunny was funny now…

During the time Frankie stayed with her grandmother, Wilt 'disappeared' like all imaginary friends do. He had outlived his usefulness and now it was time to go to Otherworld. There, he met the Funny Bunny, who despised that name and demanded he be called 'Herriman'. In this new world, Wilt rarely left the giant building that overlooked everyone else's thoughts. Sometimes he went outside for a look around, but the Hatter did have a curfew for Wilt's brethren so the outings were never really all that long. Sometimes he would request a glance into the 'real world' just to see how Frankie was getting on, and that request was granted. When he saw Frankie, he saw her belittled and mocked by her peers, mostly due to her relation to that 'crazy old Foster lady'. She wasn't really a social butterfly.

Wilt had begged to go to the real world to help her out, but that request was denied.

One day, it was granted.

When he materialized away from Otherworld and into Frankie's room, a strange sensation overcame him. The sensation of being _alive_. He could breathe real air, smell real smells, and touch real substances. He wasn't a concept, but a being of flesh and bone. It was _wonderful_.

While it lasted.

"Wilt."

He heard her.

Turning around, he saw her once more. He knew she was Frankie, but she wasn't his Frankie. There was something…different.

"Come, Wilt, it's been such a long time since we were together."

He walked up to her slowly and carefully, his feet squeaking against the wooden planks. His face forced a smile, but when hers did not smile back, his mouth shrunk.

"Sit."

He did as she commanded.

"You're my best friend, right?"

He said his first words upon his promotion to reality: "Right."

"Then I feel you should know my intentions, before…" She didn't finish her sentence, she just gave a suggestive grin. Because he was her friend, she felt she should spend a couple of minutes with me before turning him into…that thing. She then proceeded to explain every aspect and detail of her plan to build an army of imaginary friends.

An army that would attack. An army that would kill. An army that would conquer.

That wasn't his Frankie.

After Wilt expressed his disgust over Frankie's ideas, he turned around and saw _him_.

The one who caused this entire mess.

The one who ruined Frankie and her happy childhood world forever.

Him.

He looked like a cartoon spy, what with his concealed face and trench coat.

"Wilt," he told me, "you're one of the kindest, most polite imaginary friends a child could wish for. You're always there for your child, to give your support and love." I enjoyed hearing these words, until I heard him continue: "And that's your problem. You see, my magic isn't perfect, and I fear there may be a chance these imaginary friends may betray me. So…"

He cut it off.

Wilt's left arm fell to the floor.

"Betray me," he explained, "and you lose your other arm."

The cruelty reflected in his voice increased with every word he said.

"I have a caveat. No-one betrays me, or else…" He 'slit' his throat with his finger, making a faux slicing noise. "Or worse."

That was the cue for the transformation to begin.

Wilt wanted to close his eyes but he knew he had to keep them open, and they were open throughout the whole thing. My body grew more anorexic, until it looked like he hadn't been fed in years. The '1' on his chest became the number of the beast. His wristband shrunk away into non-existence, and his hand grew more skeletal and claw-like. His feet slowly shrank and his legs octopus tentacles which slithered out of his trainers. My once friendly grin became menacing and ferocious. His right eye completely disappeared, being replaced by a strange green creature popping out of his skull. His other eye became a hypnotic spiral, continually spinning. The final stage of this hateful metamorphosis was his mind flooding with thoughts of murder, sadism and hatred. All the memories of aiding Frankie and those playful summer days diminished.

Those memories came back when he saw the man he was meant to kill.

_What's happened to me?_

_What's happened?_

Mac had managed to avoid a painful death falling off the edge of the platform by slowly and carefully sidestepping around the edge, until he was behind Wilt.

Wilt had his face buried in his only hand, his face wet with tears. Mac actually felt sympathy for this imaginary friend, and so placed his arm on Wilt's shoulder in hopes of comforting him.

"Mac…I'm so sorry." Wilt mumbled through empty tears, "I'm not…I'm not evil…I don't want to kill you."

What was once a psycho axe murderer that any horror movie would be proud to have was now a blubbering wreck. Of course, Mac still didn't know whether to trust Wilt or not. This could be another trick…

"Mac…" Wilt cried, "I'm sorry…I don't want to kill you…I want my old Frankie back…please…please…can you forgive me?"

Mac was still indecisive.

Bloo slowly floated up to Wilt, staring at the sorrow. "Geez."

"Well, okay then, I guess that whole…um…killing thing wasn't really your fault."

"I…don't want to…" Wilt gripped Mac tightly as if doing so would restore him.

"Um, okay then. This isn't really…" Despite the awkwardness, Mac held Wilt as well.

"NO!"

The trio turned around, and saw the Duchess' powerful fury.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Frankie stared at Wilt in a furious manner, her hands burning with ferocious flame. However, as Frankie grew angrier, Wilt did too, his tears of misery becoming tears of rage against this whole ordeal and the horrific empire that was being created. Wilt clenched his bony fist and gave his famous snarl. He quickly slithered over to Frankie, until he was looking at her right in the face.

It was then Wilt would do something he thought he would never do in an eternity: he slugged Frankie in the face.

"I hate you," Wilt snarled at Frankie. Of course, he didn't mean that literally; he hated what Frankie had become, and hated what he had been through.

"Wilt," growled Frankie, "I've given you so much. And this is how you thank me?"

Wilt immediately grabbed Frankie by her shirt and lifted her to his face, like he did with Mac earlier on. Then he proceeded to dangle her above the void the platform was floating in.

Was he…actually threatening her?

"Wilt," Frankie demanded, "What are you doing?"

He then started shaking Frankie up and down as if he was about to drop her. Although it appeared Wilt had repented, it also appeared he still had some of the killer instinct he had gained when he had transformed.

"**WHY!**" Wilt shouted furiously, "You ruined my life! You took away everything that imaginary friends are supposed to be!"

"Wilt..."

"Shut up, you selfish little _bitch_! Nobody likes you! You… you…"

Frankie stared at Wilt, the miserable expression on his face, and his tears of despair. Everything he had ever loved had been annihilated, destroyed and eliminated, all because of Frankie's lust for power. His wonderful childlike world had transformed into a hell-hole of screams, a horror movie where _he_ was the killer. All he wanted was to have his happy fairy-tale world back, and to have _his_ Frankie back.

But Frankie didn't care.

One blast of fire sent Wilt toppling over backwards, freeing Frankie from his grasp and bringing her back to the ground.

"You little prick. You really I would give up my unlimited power just because of some sentimental crap about how sad you are."

He lay on the floor, shivering in fear at what she would do to him.

She looked down on him, her friend from the past, and smirked.

You know what you must do…

Her smile grew wider, thinking of what she would do to him.

**DO IT NOW!**

She tightened her hand into a fist, raised it into the air, and swung it back down again, wielding no weapon. A flash of lightning was less quick.

It came off.

He was now completely armless.

How gruesome.

Never again would he dribble a basketball like his namesake, never again would he give a caring hug.

He cried again, but he had no hands to wipe away his empty tears. For some reason, that made the experience more painful.

Come to think of it, that alone is too good for **the likes of HIM.**

**HE'S RUINING YOUR DREAM.**

He had to suffer _more_ torment.

He felt the pain as he was strapped to the cold stone table, Coco hovering above him like a vulture. In Prometheus fashion, Coco was to feed on Wilt's entrails. They would grow back, only to be eaten again.

He would serve as a living example of what would happen if her rule was not followed. Nothing more but an object of ridicule.

This wasn't what should happen.

Why didn't he enjoy the happiness and friendship with her once more? Why wasn't he giving support and being helpful and doing what imaginary friends should do?

His dreams of a redeemed Frankie and his happy world returning had been shattered.

What's worse: death would never put him out of his misery.

He disappeared, taken into another room so the other friends could see him.

She laughed.

A long, maniacal, sadistic laugh.

Wilt doesn't deserve _your_ pity.

"BLOO!"

As quick as the blink of an eye, Bloo darted over to Frankie, slashing her face like a cat.

"You bitch!" Bloo cried.

"What? I didn't _kill_ Wilt." Frankie replied to Bloo's outburst. A suggestive smile crossed her face. "Still, I don't like it when people call me a _bitch_…"

She raised her hand into the air, her finger pointing to the sky.

A gigantic white beam emitted from the Dark Mind, which almost looked like lightning.

It hit Bloo right in the stomach, right before he even had a chance to get away.

The pain…

He fell.

He fell to the ground, the fall being lethal.

He shattered.

He actually shattered like a vase being dropped off a table.

Pieces were scattered everywhere, then faded into the ground.

The only remainder of Bloo were his famous eyes, lying there on the floor.

You didn't need _him_ anyway.

Many would say that Bloo suffered a less horrific fate than Wilt, but Bloo…Bloo was so special to Mac. Mac had gone through this insane house just to be re-united with the Bloo he had loved and adored. He had succeeded in some sense, only to have his accomplishments shattered by the Duchess. Mac actually felt partially responsible for Bloo's death; he could have done something to help Bloo. But the real murderer was Frankie, the heartless fiend who had started this whole ordeal.

She _must_ be stopped.

She _must_.

"I'm sorry I killed your best friend Mac." Frankie told Mac in a voice that almost sounded sympathetic, yet it was still mocking, "Just think, he would still be here if only you had agreed to my offer. And you would be fighting alongside him too." She then proceeded to feign kindness, making false promises. "Tell you what: if you join me, I will use my magic to bring Bloo back. And I'll free Wilt, and give him his arms back. This is your last chance."

This offer actually sounded less tempting than Frankie's previous attempts. Mac still felt fury against her and her empire. He still remembered all the strange imaginary friends he had encountered, and thought about how they must have suffered.

"Fuck you."

"Then be destroyed." Frankie growled.

The moment Frankie started talking, Mac knew he had to _run_.

Narrowly avoiding the beam that killed Bloo, Mac swiped Wilt's axe from the floor, clinging onto it once again. Frankie neared Mac, actually tempted to face Mac head on, and Mac…

He wielded the axe and flung it in Frankie's face.

Even Mac couldn't believe he did that.

Frankie had suffered a gigantic scar, but it miraculously healed in a matter of seconds. Her hands burned with the furious flames of damnation once more as she lunged towards Mac, certain this would deliver the final blow. Mac avoided her vicious attacks by quickly walking backwards, swiping Wilt's weapon at Frankie.

She _must_ be stopped.

In a move that surprised Mac, Frankie actually leapt onto Mac, pinning him onto the ground. Frankie actually preferred to take Mac head on, rather than let the Dark Mind do all the work for her. As she looked at Mac's face while he lay on the ground, she emulated a hungry lion attacking its prey by clawing his stomach.

Frankie was human, but the result of her attack, the giant bloody scars on Mac's stomach, made it look like he had been attacked by Eduardo.

She loved the sight of blood, it made her feel so victorious.

"Just think," Frankie mused out loud, "you wouldn't be fighting for your life right now if only you had accepted my invitation. You know, I'm still giving you a chance to accept. Remember all those nice things I showed you? And you could have that blue friend of yours back." As Frankie was trying to tempt Mac _yet again_, Mac saw this as an opportunity to overpower her by pushing her off him and getting up.

"Will you just shut up about me joining you?" snarled Mac, as he continuously slugged Frankie in the face, each blow delivering only slight pain. Frankie only laughed at Mac's attempts to fight, with cries of 'Is that all you've got?' and actual burns from her attacks.

Mac _needed_ to stop her. She had brought these imaginary friends nothing but pain and anguish, and was murdering so many people…including his father.

_"If I ever find who killed him, I swear I'll…I'll…"_

He suddenly remembered how upset his mother was by the murder, and how Frankie was to blame. He remembered her crying miserably, her face buried in her hands, actually quite similar to Wilt right before his torment.

She would have wanted him to do this.

He would avenge his father's death, Bloo's death and Wilt's sentence.

Before she had a chance to attack, he used the axe again.

He had done it.

It came off.

Just like Wilt.

He had actually cut her arm off.

This actually didn't bother Frankie. As painful as that was, she could just re-attach her arm, like she did with her head when she and Wilt put on that act.

But as for Mac, the disembowelment felt…it felt good.

He was getting his sweet revenge at last.

As Frankie was re-attaching her arm, she suddenly noticed Mac darting towards the Dark Mind, his hand firmly gripping Wilt's weapon.

"Not so fast!" Frankie cried, raising her arm into the air once more. Mac dashed out of the way to avoid the lightning-like beam that emitted form the giant brain. He wouldn't want to end up like Bloo.

He felt her fire as she came closer. "What's the use in fighting me, Mac? You know I have such unlimited power, and it is impossible to destroy me. Give up! You know you can't win!"

Mac slugged her yet again, this one actually bringing her to the floor.

The knife.

He exerted the knife he had brought with him once more, thrusting it into her heart as she tried to get up.

Blood.

The sight of her blood was so…sweet. She was getting what she deserved.

"You idiot." Frankie grumbled, as she removed the weapon from her heart, blood still staining her shirt. "It'll take more than mere human weaponry to.."

Mac was actually raising his axe above the Dark Mind, about to do what would bring the battle, and her tyranny, to an end.

"NO!"

He did it.

He frantically chopped off each and every wire attached to the brain, laughing in triumph as he was performing the task.

Sparks flew from the wires, as if the brain was actually running on electricity.

Frankie screamed in defeat as she watched her empire crumble through Mac's actions.

As for his final 'attack' on the object, Mac threw the axe right into the centre of the brain.

"Yes!" Mac cried, trying to sound all the more heroic, knowing that he had freed the imaginary friends and destroyed Frankie's evil plot.

All went dark.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"Mac? Mac?"

Mac wearily opened his eyes, staring at the strange blurs towering over him.

"Wake up, wake up."

Mac fully blinked open his eyes.

"I won," he whispered.

Beams of radiant daylight oozed through the windows, redeeming what had once been a hellpit of horrors. Standing right in front of Mac, were the imaginary friends he had encountered earlier in his adventures, only…not so much. Wilt wasn't being tortured; he looked exactly how Frankie had first imagined him, complete with the beaming smile. Eduardo was no longer a mutant canine; a giant purple teddy bear with friendly tusks. Coco's repetition of her name was performed in a more friendly tone as she randomly battered her eyelids. Each of them rushed to Mac, hugging him tightly, each of them thanking him several times.

"Mac!"

"Bloo! You're alive!"

Bloo, now a cute little ghost again, rushed to Mac with obligatory puppy-dog eyes, arms out reached, ready to…

**HA HA HA HA HA HA HA**

Day became night.

The house became empty.

Not an imaginary friend in sight.

No Bloo, no Wilt, no Eduardo, no Coco, no Herriman, no Berry…

_Did I win?_

_He_ was there.

He was there, clapping slowly in a sarcastic manner, nearing Mac.

"Bravo, Mac." he enounced, "You've defeated my evil plan. Extra points for being nice to poor old Wilt. You're a true superhero. Congratulations." At that moment, his voice was filled with grim sarcasm, but became more serious as he continued.

"But how do you know you've destroyed my threat for good? How do you know I won't return, stronger than before? How do you know you're not part of some never-ending battle? I'll just find somebody else to bring the imaginary friends to life. Maybe they'll be more obedient."

"What happened to the imaginary friends after I destroyed that brain thing?" Mac said.

"They went back to where they were originally," the _thing_ replied, "Otherworld."

The hugs, the gratitude, the sunshine…

**ALL. A. _LIE_.**

"Yes, I know you were hoping for a happy ending, where you free all the nice imaginary friends, you get Bloo back, and everybody sings and dances and makes merry. Life's tough, you know."

He wasn't through with Mac. He had one more trick up his sleeve, performed with his parting words.

"I'll see you in Hell."

Hell.

**HELL.**

**HELL IS ALL AROUND ME.**

The house began to burn with a ghastly inferno, engulfing everything in sight. Mac immediately tried to find a way out of this house, avoiding the vicious, mocking flames all around him. As he ran, he heard the strange being's laughter. Grisly, maniacal laughter which sounded like some twisted Dr. Evil which could never be escaped.

Mac kept running faster, faster, **_FASTER_**, trying to escape the undying evil all around him. Everywhere he saw the flames of Hell…and the residents.

Inhuman, restless, tormented creatures were coming out of the flames, reaching out for Mac.

Rotting corpses, screaming, shouting, begging for mercy.

**HELL.**

Mac darted down the staircase, looking behind him to see what he was avoiding. The whole floor went up in fiery explosions, further torturing the souls of Hell. He ran for the front door, choking on the smoke, but a blazing board of wood fell down, delaying Mac's escape. Only by breaking a nearby window was Mac able to get free.

Mac saw the house go up in flames, still hearing the screams of the damned and the mocking laughter, although the laughter became more louder and the screams became more faint.

Frankie.

She was stumbling out of the burning house, nearing Mac. She looked like an absolute nightmare. A rotting zombie, with white pupil-less eyes and her skin melting off her body.

"Mac," she growled, "you've ruined my dream!"

She came closer and closer, walking slowly in a zombie fashion, but before she could reach Mac and get her revenge, she fell to the floor, dead and doomed to become a denizen of the eternal flaming Hell.

Mac still heard the laughter piercing his soul, more haunting than Pete's laughter and more twisted and evil then Wilt's.

**I SHALL RETURN MAC.**

* * *

Once again, Mac found himself groggily awakening after being knocked out, but this time he wasn't being greeted to a faux-happy ending, just a pale blue sky, some birds flying around, and the mighty Foster's house of haunted horror reduced to a giant pile of cinders. Still a little weary, and covered in blood from his battles and window leaping, he stumbled over to the remains of the mansion, and searched through it, just in case…no, nothing. His imaginary friend, everyone else's imaginary friends, and the horrible house of Foster's were all up in smoke. Well, at least he didn't end up joining them.

After another look about, his eyes fixed themselves on his wristwatch – _oh shit, I'm late for work_.

But work had to wait, as, at the iron gates of Foster's were the police, here to investigate the scene. Their appearance frightened Mac just as much as any demonic creature, so as much as he wanted to run away, he found himself frozen on the spot. Still near the ashes of what was once the Foster residence, Mac stood as a female, Hispanic officer approached him.

"Um….you…" Once again at a loss for words.

The officer raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you?"

Oh…

"HELL BURNT IT!"

"What?"

"I was here last night…"

"Why were you here last night?"

"I…I was led here…it was being used to turn imaginary friends evil!"

The officer stood still, her arms folded.

"I didn't burn it down…this weird…shadow thing came and burnt it down! He was the one making all the friends evil, and he made these flames appear! This house was…oh…oh, fuck it."

"Very interesting story," said the officer, looking at her co-workers investigating the area, then back at Mac. "Maybe you could tell it in more detail back at the station." So Mac's reward for saving the world was to be escorted to a paddy wagon and being thought a nutcase.

"I didn't burn it down though!"

"I'm actually wishing you did," said the officer as she led Mac outside the gates, "I really wanted them to knock that creepy place down after Madam Foster died, but they kept saying it was a 'town legend' and all that crap. I swear, every time I passed it on my patrol, I'd hear weird voices. You know, I actually had an imaginary friend when I was a kid. His name was Eduardo…"


	12. Chapter 12

**Epilogue**

Clickity-clack, clickity-clack.

Clickity-clack went the keyboard as Terrence typed.

Clickity-clack.

Terrence was editing his CV, in hopes of finding a better job. He had lost his past one at the local restaurant, and he needed a way to keep the money coming in.

But would finding a job be easy when he was the brother of a looney? As he stared at his computer scene, he was watching the news, which was speaking of the great fire at 'the old Foster place', that 'haunted house' he never really cared about. Mac was apparently taken in for questioning, as he was found hanging about the house the day it was roasted, covered in blood and blathering nonsense and it was all a bit suspicious. But Terrence quickly switched off the TV; as he didn't really want to hear anymore.

Despite being Mac's older brother, he didn't really care much for Mac, so if you told him that Mac was in that house last night, fighting ferocious demons and fighting for his life, he probably wouldn't listen.

He stroked his unshaved chin, considering how he should finish it off, and just typed down the first things to come into his head. At that moment, he thought that he should just 'hit the hay', until…

Knock, knock, knock.

Uh?

Knock, knock, knock.

Who could it be at this time of night?

Terrence was about to open the door and see just who it was, but whoever was at the door, opened it himself.

_Him._

He stood at the door, his face completely hidden by his coat and hat.

As soon as his large yellow eyes were revealed, Terrence was taken aback in horror, but became less frightened the more he 'knew' this thing.

He explained.

He gave the promises of power, the hopes of an empire, and how he would help Terrence.

"I can give you so much power," _he_ explained, "if you help me with this project."

Terrence grinned in anticipation.

"Oh, really?"'

* * *

_'For Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light'  
_2 Corinthians 11:14

_  
The Tin Woodman gave a sigh of satisfaction and lowered his axe, which he leaned against the tree._

_  
"This is a great comfort," he said. "I have been holding that axe in the air ever since I rusted, and I'm glad to be able to put it down at last. Now, if you will oil the joints of my legs, I shall be all right once more."  
_The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum


	13. OneShot: Duchess Meets Duchess

NOTE: OK, now for some little bonus short stories! These takes place before the main Foster's House story and 'An Imaginary War'. Enjoy!

* * *

**Duchess Meets Duchess**

The gusts of wind making the dead trees creak did nothing but make the Hatter feel all the more fettered, as he paced back and forth wandering what could be happening. With all the mysterious disappearances, he knew that shadow character was up to something. Yes, it could only be that trenchcoated figure. He suspected Tyr for two minutes, but dismissed it after a while of thought. He had never seen that self-important fathead as any great threat to his reign, no matter how many times he and his peers opposed him. While he kept telling himself and his tea-party cohorts that he saw the shadow as much a self-important buffoon as Tyr, he couldn't help but think that, in reality, the shadow was probably his first worthy adversary, perhaps because even after the Hatter threw everything he could throw at him, which would make even the most rational man crazy, the shadow persevered, and kept on in his open criticism of the Hatter to his fellow demons. No matter though. He could sense Tyr was already breaking but just refused to admit it, and was certain he would someday say the same for the shadow.

Breaking him out of his train of thought, the March Hare darted in, scurrying on all fours as he normally did when he became worried. "Sir?"

"How many imaginaries have vanished today?"

"Only one."

"And that is?"

"That...Bloo guy. Blooregard Q Kazoo."

"Should you not be relieved? I remember you complaining about how that simplistically-designed creature was, as you said, a royal pain in the posterior."

"Yeah, but I know what that shadow's like. If it's him behind all this like you say, just think of what he could be doing to that guy. He was a pain before but I don't think I can stand what he'd be like if the shadow had his way with him!"

"You make a fine point. Now tend to the tea party!" With that, the Hare scurried away.

Otherworld was indeed the realm of the mind, where creatures from people's imaginations were given life, but the Hatter still liked to think of the imaginary friends as imaginary, childish things that should be done away with when a person comes of age. What annoyed him about them was because they were somehow 'different' from regular imaginary creatures, so instead of being confined to an Otherworld house like most people's imaginings, they ended up in the main hub of Otherworld where the Hatter had to deal with them. Thus, the Hatter had a large building built just for them where they could be supervised. Although he had to admit he found one of them genuinely enjoyable company; Mr. Herriman. A large grey hare with a disposition the Hatter found admirable, so he became the leader of the building, with the March Hare supplying food and hygiene and whatever he could. In fact, the March Hare had grown rather attached to the imaginary friends, and began to doubt the way Hatter was treating them.

The Hatter didn't think much of the March Hare's doubts. Being a lover and analyser of the greatest classic literature, he had got it in his head that imaginary characters exist only to show and reveal things about 'real' people, and thus they shouldn't be treated as real people as the March Hare had advocated. He had also noted that the imaginary friends were now obsolete now that their creators had outgrown them and thus were lower on the social ladder than literary characters like Hamlet or Captain Ahab, and even characters in cartoons. Still, he found them somewhat amusing, though not as much as the maniacal and the insane. To him, they probably only existed just so he could further advocate the social ladder he had forged in his head and so he could have more creatures to express his superiority over. When asked about why he did what he did, most imaginary friends would say 'because he's a jerk.'

Although he still stood by his philosophy about how the imaginary friends should be treated, he still couldn't help but feel it was the very reason that they were disappearing from Otherworld, and why he suspected that the shadow was behind the whole ordeal. That creature had always been one of the most vocal critics of the Hatter's rule, and he thoroughly criticised his treatment of the friends, asking them why he didn't give them jobs, or even re-unite them with their creators, even those who didn't go to Otherworld. The Hatter's response was always the same; a swish of the hand, and a "Go away, you boisterous blabbermouth!" Even after hearing the same old speech from the shadow so many times, he still didn't change his philosophy one iota. Imaginary friends would still be under his thumb, and if any creatures in Otherworld were going to get the 'fair treatment' the shadow and the March Hare suggested, then it should be the Cheshire Cat army he had built over the years. They were far more deserving of whatever treasures and benefits Otherworld could bring; the Hatter was more comfortable thinking of them as flesh and blood, and their problems were far more serious than being blamed for a broken vase by a snotty four-year-old brat.

Trudging through the dusty and oppressive forest that was his favourite haunt, the Hatter arrived at his headquarters; an elegant Victorian residence that clashed greatly with its surroundings. There, he would plan his move should the shadow's purpose in taking the imaginary friends be one which could actually challenge his rule. After opening the front door, he felt clammy tentacles wrap around his body, and looked down to see a certain fat three-eyed demon: the Duchess. She proved to be one of his most favourite followers, as she brought him many deliciously amusing maniacs for him to call his property. Her specialty was madness induced by family, as a sick response to the way her mother and sisters looked down on her her whole life, and through her many years of serving the Hatter, she had always remained loyal.

Perhaps a little _too_ loyal.

At that moment, for example, she had sensed that the Hatter was upset and had cooked him a meal in hopes of making him feel better. While he rolled his eyes at the notion at first, he noticed she had cooked a rather delicious-looking roast chicken. The Duchess always made a good roast chicken, especially when it was from an annoying Visitor. As he didn't like offending the Duchess, at least if he could help it, he grabbed a knife and fork laid out for him, and took a few bites. Although he had no visible mouth, the pieces of the chicken disappeared within seconds. After that brief repast, he made his way upstairs, much to the dismay of the Duchess.

"Aren't you going to finish your food?" said the Duchess in that sweet voice she normally used when tempting someone.

"I have a matter that needs to be dealt with. I'm sorry." With that, the Hatter walked upstairs to where he would plan his move, leaving the Duchess looking rather upset. Slithering out of the house, she sighed, as the Hatter had been paying less and less attention to her in recent years. As she let the chilling breeze of Otherworld wash over her, she tried to think back to the 'old days', to when the Hatter would take her out whenever she was feeling at all sad, or just when she felt like a change of scenery. It would always be a world created by a human, stored in their Otherworld houses. She especially favoured those houses which created fields during summertime, where she would frolic in the grass, or lie down and look at the clouds, but one fond memory of hers was when she and the Hatter visited an imaginary jungle, and she watched him use a pocket knife to hack away plants in their way. It felt like a scene in a novel.

Nowadays, she was lucky if he even joined her while looking at the view from the highest hill in the Otherworld woods. Still, despite all the horrible things she had said to her victims about their lives and problems, she liked to remain optimistic, and hoped the Hatter wouldn't forget her. If he no longer had time for her, he would have done away with her. Simple as that. He may be a demon, but demons weren't heartless. She should know.

Like any caring person though, she set out to rectify what was eating the Hatter. Off she slithered to the building of imaginary friends in hopes of helping. Maybe she'd capture the fiend in the act, or at least some clue of some kind. Quickly she entered, and the second she did, one of the remaining friends shrieked in horror and ran up the stairs. Ignoring that, she scoured the halls, humming a tune to herself as she did so, until she saw an imaginary friend running in her direction.

"I'm a horse! Baaa! Baaa!"

Seeing something suspicious, at least to her, the Duchess asked, "What do ya know 'bout them missing friends?" with a nasty smile. Instead of answering, the friend leapt on her head and grabbed onto her hat like it was a steering wheel.

"Brmm brmm brmm. Brmm brmm brmm."

The only way the Duchess could respond to this was to take this friend and throw him down the stairs, and the little runt even giggled as he bopped his head. Getting back to business, the Duchess slithered down the halls, peeking through each and every door to find what she could find. Most were empty, and others had worried friends on their beds which Duchess found herself unable to interview, until she reached the room of a friend calling himself Uncle Pockets.

"Hey, I know you, you work for the Hatter. Is it my mind you hope to shatter?"

"I just wanna know where the friends are goin'!"

"Well, it began rather slowly, and quite subtle too, then it kept growing, now we don't know what to do! Every so often, least once every night, there appears this weird and spooky light. It takes one of us, away and afar, and the best we can do is wish on a star! We don't know where they went to, or what's bein' done, none of us can avoid it, and the whole thing's no fun! But I doubt someone like you would even care, you probably like it that we're all in despair!"

Hearing that, the Duchess thought she understood it, and felt the best plan of action was to wait around for that light to appear, and follow it to where the imaginary friends were being taken. Following this plan, she decided to take advantage of the imaginary friends' absence and lie on one of their bed until she sensed signs of the light. It took an hour or so, when her head was starting to feel lighter from lying down, but she was snapped into reality, as it were, by a sudden scream. In seconds, her tentacles stretched to the scene, where a huge object that almost blinded her grew and grew until it encompassed the entire hallway. What overcame her made her instinctively place her tentacles over her three eyes, until the smell of grime and potions touched her nostrils, and she found herself in what looked like a spell laboratory. She slapped her face with her tentacle for not figuring out magick would be involved in some shape or form, even if she was none too familiar on the subject.

"Gee, I wonder what poor sap imagined this up?"

The Duchess turned around and saw a strange-looking young woman, who looked slightly younger than she actually was, leaning on a table. Her skin was almost completely white, which, coupled with her raven hair, tied back with a scrunchie, made her look like a vampire. A black leather coat hung over her shoulders, and her attire also consisted of a t-shirt to some rock band the Duchess didn't care about, a denim skirt, and boots that reached up to her ankles.

"Hey! Are ya the one who's makin' them imaginary friends disappear?"

"Uh...duh. You're an imaginary friend, aren't ya?"

"Not on yer bloody life! I'm..." A series of guttural sounds escaped her throat. "...but most folk call me the Duchess."

Hearing this made the woman run up to the Duchess and slap her across the face, causing her to roll around the floor for a while before she attempted to retaliate, which only resulted in the woman throwing some potions at her, which hurt her greatly, and sent her screaming and twitching on the floor again. After the pain began to die down, she found herself wrapped in thick tentacles of shadow that could only belong to one person.

"Ah, yes, I've been waiting for someone like this. Good work, Frankie."

"Wot's your game, eh?" said the Duchess, turning to the trenchcoated shadow.

"How predictable of the Hatter to send his little pet to try and figure out my scheme. Well, he might as well know about it, as maybe it'll teach him not to neglect something so wonderful."

"What are ya talkin'about?"

"Simple. The way the Hatter treated imaginary friends unnerved me. Sure, he gave them shelter, but did he ever let them create their own worlds like he did humans? Did he even give them positions in his army? It's a shame, because in some ways, these imaginary friends are so much better than the humans that created them. They show things about the human race that they try to keep hidden...perhaps that's why the Hatter did what he did. He wants them to stay hidden.

"Anyway, I couldn't help but notice a huge rise in imaginary friends as of recently, and felt disappointed the Hatter just treated these new friends so indifferently, so I thought; what could I do about this? I at first just wanted to bring them into reality, where they would gain jobs and become citizens and all that. Then I thought of a better and more appropriate way to give the imaginary friends the dignity they deserve. If the Hatter thinks they are beneath humans, then I shall prove him wrong by putting them above humans! With my very own Duchess..." He gestured towards Frankie. "...we are going to mould these friends into my own image, so they will not only be taken seriously, but will have dominance over the humans that mocked them."

"Oh yeah? 'Ow are ya doin' that then?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" The black tentacles detached from their creator, and tied up the Duchess to a nearby chair. "Maybe with you, the Hatter and I can work something out. Now, if you excuse me, I have work to do. Frankie, deal with this creature." The shadow disappeared in a spiral, leaving the two Duchesses alone with each other.

"Well," said Frankie, "I suppose I'm going to have to put you somewhere where I won't have to pay attention to you."

The Duchess only smiled.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Why are you doing this?" asked the Duchess in a completely different voice then she had used since coming here, one sinister yet strangely mellifluous.

"OK, that 'creepy interrogator' act isn't going to work on me. I've seen it in movies and I'm not going to fall for it."

"Sorry, love," the Duchess continued as Frankie moved the chair to a different location, "Just, I've seen this sort of thing a lot, and it's almost always because their mom and dad died, or their father abused them, or their brother was better than them..." Saying nothing, Frankie shoved the Duchess and her chair into a closet, and locked it using, randomly enough, her hand. Despite being stuck in a cramped space, the Duchess still smiled.

* * *

"Sir!"

The Hatter stirred from his slumber as the first thing he saw after that slumber were various maps of Otherworld, and various places in the real world. Stretching, he turned to the Cheshire Cat that had awoken him, trying to look as dignified as he usually did. "Well?"

"It's that shadow guy."

"Him?"

"A message from him." After snatching a piece of paper from the cat's claw, the Hatter began to read it:

_Dear Hatter,_

_Recently, your little friend the Duchess has stumbled into my scheme, and now she is in my possession. However, I am willing to release her if we arrange a meeting time, where we will negotiate her release, settle other matters of relevance and generally discuss things like gentlemen._

Placing the note down calmly and quietly, the Hatter looked at the address his rival had placed on the note: none other than the Foster's residence. Of course, _that_ place! The Hatter looked back at his maps, especially to one which showed the locations on Earth with the strongest Otherworld connections. Foster's House was built on a place where the barrier between Otherworld and Earth was weak. Instantly, he remembered what the house was like before the shadow had his way with it. It was a magnificent abode, owned by famed aristocrat Archibald Foster, who was well-known for his grandiose social get-togethers. The Hatter had attended a few, as he liked to mingle with the well-to-do of that day. True, he believed himself superior to them all, but he was sure all of them felt the same way, which made them feel like kindred spirits. There were so few of those nowadays. After Archibald died however, and the house became a mere place of residence, the place slowly faded from the Hatter's memory.

After taking a few minutes to fully wake-up, the Hatter made his way to the Otherworld library, which had literally everything he could need. Upon entering, he spoke to the librarian, who was a giant octopus, and asked her for any and all recent information about the Foster residence. Stretching her tentacle around the library, much bigger on the inside then it looked from the outside, she pulled out a stack of newspapers. Returning to his office, the Hatter looked through them. Some concerned a woman known as Madame Foster, treated as a media novelty for her claims of bringing imaginary friends to life, and the kids of the neighbourhood treating her as some kind of witch. These were dull to the Hatter, considering the type of things he had witnessed or caused, then he looked to the articles about Foster being found dead outside her own home, and the mysterious deaths and disappearances, the other bodies outside the house. A slight chuckle escaped the Hatter's throat, as he always found death of inferiors somewhat amusing. Although he at first found them boring, he quickly looked back on the articles featuring Madam Foster. What he read of her seemed to make out she was insane; not insane enough to properly amuse the Hatter, but insane nonetheless. However, she didn't look at all familiar, and the Hatter couldn't say he had seen her anywhere before in Otherworld. Then he remembered that a pact with the likes of the shadow would mean Hell. That bastard.

Now that he knew where the shadow was hiding, he could just send an army of Cheshire Cats to pummel the life out of him and bring his plan to a halt. However, such a thing would be too easy, and ungentlemanlike and unsportsmanlike. Plus, he liked a good conversation, and a good argument. They'd arrange a time, and they'd discuss things.

Oh, the shadow knew him too well...

* * *

Down the hallways of Foster's House, another tentacle-bearing creature slithered. This thing stood seven-foot-tall with red skin and one arm, as well as a maggot for an eye and crooked teeth. In his one arm, he held a tray of bread and water, and took it to the closet where the Duchess was found, still smiling.

"Look," said the red creature, "I'm sorry that you had to be treated this way, but that shadow guy said it was the only way him and that faceless guy could reach some agreement. I've brought ya some food, because, you know, I'd feel kinda bad if you didn't get some. By the way, name's Wilt."

"That's okay, dearie. I don't need to eat."

"OK then..."

"And you're supposed to part of a great army that'll destroy m'lords!"

"I'm sorry, but when I'm provoked...oh, you do _not_ want to know what'll happen!"

"Why are you workin' for that plonker anyways?"

"Because I have to, ok?"

"Mmm...I know what you're feeling..."

"What?"

"The moral of this is 'A witch of grime depraves nine!'"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're troubled but yer tryin' to hide it! I get that wit' m'lord all the time! That's why he needs me! The moral of that is 'Behind every great plan, there's a great woman'."

"I'm sorry, but I do not have time for your silly morals!"

"Fine, have it your way. Who was yer creator, anyway?"

Hearing this made Wilt twitch. "Why'd you wanna know?"

"Doncha want 'im back?"

Wilt gave no aural answer, but the Duchess was one who could tell how people felt from the expression on their faces. She could read tics and grimaces like a revealing celebrity article. "Ah! I know who she is! I know who she is!"

"_Shut up_!" Wilt yelled, before quietly adding, "Sorry."

"I'm not the one who made ya look like dat, am I? Now, how about loosening these ropes, dearie?"

"Oh-ho-ho, you're not going to trick me like that, ok?"

"But I wanna show that fake Duchess what for!"

"No, I'm sorry, but no!"

Just as Wilt was about to leave, the Duchess hopped towards him on her chair, and gave him a puppy-dog look. Something within that look made Wilt relent and loosen the tentacles of shadow tying her to the chair. In milliseconds afterwards, the Duchess embraced Wilt with a hug that almost made him suffocate. "Mind taking me to yer room?"

"OK, just as long as you don't bother me!" As Wilt took the Duchess to his room, she inwardly cackled, thinking of how happy her master will be when she finds out what wimps the shadow has in his employ. Wilt's bedroom in the house boasted an eight foot tall doorway, and bright basketball wallpaper that made it quite a contrast to the musty and stinking red lion-pattered wallpaper of the halls and its uninviting stench. Upon entering, Duchess did what she did during her time in the closet: sat down and smiled. "Could you _please_ stop looking at me like that? I don't even know why I let you go!"

"Because you like me!"

"Yeah, well, if my boss finds out you're gone, she's gonna be mighty steamed!"

"Maybe I'll see her and find out!" Saying this, the Duchess edged towards the door, but didn't go through it before an axe threw through the air and almost hit her. Wilt let out an inhuman roar as saliva dripped from his mouth, and after retrieving his trusty axe, began chasing the Duchess through the Foster's House halls as she giggled playfully. She couldn't remember the last time she had so much fun, and the fact that he was carrying a deadly weapon just added to the amusement. As she rested by a dead end to catch her breath, she spied what looked like a blue spectre floating towards her.

"Al-right! Don't you know how many friends here are afraid to tick off Wilt?"

"Well, I ain't afraid of anything!" Bloo gave her a high-five in response. "Now, er...where to find yer mistress?"

* * *

That shadow may have been her salvation...but was he _pretentious_.

Lying in her bedroom (which was a stark contrast to the rest of the house), taking sips of a Red Bull, Frankie Foster thought back to what the shadow said when they captured that blue tentacle thing. Imaginary friends were mistreated and blah, blah, blah. She didn't care about that, nor did she care about the 'Otherworld' that was being talked on and on about. All she cared about was _her_ power, and _her_ imaginary friend. Looking at the ceiling do nothing, she thought back to her teenage days, when the 'popular girls' would shove her face first into a locker, or 'stalked' her, just to remind her of her inferiority through taunts and pushes. While knowing all too well those girls were idiots and should be ignored, times like that made her think it would be more bearable if her dear old imaginary friend were by her side. He helped her through the teasing as a pre-teen. He helped her through her parents' death. She could have turned to grandma, but it was because of grandma she had to endure it. She was weird, so thus, Frankie was weird. Weirdness was hereditary. Now, she didn't have to worry about that, anymore. Those girls probably got dead-end jobs or got married to some fat slob. She had control over what could be the most dangerous and powerful army the world has ever known. And her imaginary friend, the one the kids laughed about and called her a 'freak' about, would be there by her side.

After another sip of her Red Bull, she was shocked to see the Duchess barge in, grinning her grin. "'Ello!"

"What? Who let you out?"

"Wilt did, 'cause he doesn't like you. The moral of that is: a leader is known by the company she orders about!"

Being in possession of powers of magick, Frankie shot a beam that gave the Duchess a shock.

"Oh, you. I just wanna talk and find out about you. I'll also tell ya a bit about me. The moral of that is: Better the Duchess you know, then the Duchess you don't."

"Geez, is this some sort of mind-game?"

"No, just friendly chat."

"Oh no, oh no! I've been told about you and what you do, well, it's not going to work on me!"

"No, I've just been feelin' generous, an' I wanna have a nice chat. His lordship barely ever does the same with me! I can even make crumpets!"

Perhaps in hopes of finding out something about the side she was fighting against, Frankie agreed, and they had tea and crumpets in the long dining room, a remnant of the social days of Archibald Foster.

"Y'know," said the Duchess, beginning the conversation, "the minute I came here, I actually thought this place looked a lot of fun! I love to visit a good haunted house!"

"Um, it isn't meant to be fun, and it isn't a 'haunted house'."

"Says you! I train an army meself, and I enjoy it a lot! An' I have the Hatter to thank!"

"Um, well, could you tell me a bit about him?"

"Oh, he's a wonderful man. 'E doesn't take nonsense from anyone, and 'as a full world under his command. Oh, an' he helped save me from that crappy job I 'ad..." Attempting to listen to this in hopes of picking up something that would at least slightly aid her, Frankie felt herself go limp and having to hold her head with her hand. It was like hearing Mr Herriman tell his dull old stories of the old days, which he still did even after Frankie had had her way with him. After noticing that the conversation merely consisted of hyperbole and pleasantries about how great and wonderful the Hatter was, she made her way upstairs, ignoring the Duchess' pleas to come back, which were drown out by a soft, and familiar song:

_Hippity, hippity, hoppity, hoppity, my tail is quite short and my ears are quite floppity..._

The voice of her grandma. She was the one who told her about Funny Bunny, and it was her voice telling her again. Looking around the hallway, she saw a door ajar where she thought she heard the voice come from. Quietly and slowly, she peered over and saw an empty street at night. Well, not so empty...

Mom, Dad. Lying there motionless. C'mon, wake up. Get up. Once she had been thankful she never had to see this moment, but now...

Mom's head turned, right in her direction. An angry scowl was fixed on her face.

In the background, she heard Bloo say, "Awesome, just like Batman!"

After letting loose a rather loud scream, she found herself back in the dining room, in front of a smiling Duchess. "Don't do that again!"

"Do what?"

"You know...that..._thing_!"

"What are you talking about, dearie?"

Tiring of this, Frankie grabbed the Duchess by her collar and brought her to eye level. "Look, don't play your little games with me. I've _finally _found something where I can have what I want, and nothing you do can get me out of it!"

"Wow, you're feisty! You'll make a great addition to m'lord's forces!"

"Shut up!" snarled Frankie, dropping the Duchess to the floor.

"I knew it!" she squealed, "I knew it probably 'ad somethin' to do with yer parents! That's why yer so grouchy! I knew it!" Grunting, Frankie began to walk away, but Duchess stopped her in her tracks. "C'mon, stay a while! We can still be friends!"

"Huh! As if!"

"Fine then. I'll go play wi' the other friends. They're much more fun!"

* * *

Knock, knock, knock. Knocks at the door of Foster's House, an extremely rare occurrence. Mr. Herriman, a rather ghoulish hare, hopped to the door, where he saw a strange, yet expected figure. A rather tall, thin man with light blue skin, no face save for two eyes, and wearing a top hat and long coat that billowed dramatically in the wind. Leaning on a gold cane, he asked "Is this the Foster residence?"

"It is."

"Good." The Hatter hung his coat and top hat on a coat rack, and rested his gloves and cane on a nearby table. Upon doing so, he took a moment to admire the grandiose, yet creepy decor of the mansion he had stepped foot in. Illumination via gold statues of skeletons holding candles, plant pots holding blooming plants that contrasted with the human head design of the pots, and eerie paintings of relatives hanging on the wall. "Impressive. I daresay a house after my own heart."

"I find it...appropriate." A puddle of what looked like oil crawled over the hallway, and morphed into the trenchcoated figure himself, which was Herriman's cue to leave. "One thing we can agree on, Hatter, is that childishness needs to die. And..." He gestured towards the skeletons. "...what better way to remind my forces of leaving behind childhood then reminding them of death?"

"Yes. Now, these friends, how did you do it? How did you bring them here?"

"I have studied magick for who knows how long. Once you have as wide a knowledge of magick as I do, you gain the ability to manipulate it. Now, about the Duchess..."

"You know, she could have left of her own free will..."

"Actually, I have cast a spell on this house which means anything I plucked from Otherworld cannot go back there until I say so. You can leave whenever you want, as you came here of your own freewill, but anything my devices brought here, stays."

"How...oh yes."

"M'lord!" Obviously, she clearly heard her master's voice come from downstairs, and within seconds, the Duchess had slithered down the stairs, and embraced the Hatter with a gigantic hug. "Oh, I knew you'd come for me!"

"How sweet. Anyway, I am willing to give her back, if you promise not to interfere with this plan."

"Perish the thought! I'm actually quite impressed!" He turned back to Mr. Herriman. "Turning these friends into demented versions of themselves to prepare them for battle...I'm surprised I didn't think of it!"

The shadow chuckled. "So you're not going to interfere with the friends' conversion?"

"I'll train my troops harder should you invade me, but go ahead and make them like this! It should prove quite the entertainment!"

"Yes, and the weaker of the humans will probably be driven insane, so you get more guests to your little tea party! Won't that be fun?"

The two characters talked with each other a bit more, before the Hatter left and brought the Duchess with him. Frankie looked from upstairs and gave a sigh of relief.

* * *

It was a few months after the Duchess visited when Frankie, lying on her bed, taking a rest, encountered that creature again. She slithered in, unannounced, with that grin on her face. "Just thought I'd come an' say hi!"

"Look, I'm not in the mood, so buzz off!" As Frankie said those words, the Duchess noted how worse Frankie looked after the last time they met. Her black hair was in a shambles, her eyes permanently bulged like saucers and were framed by lines and black circles, and her figure looked like she hadn't eaten in days.

"If this is 'bout makin' ya think of yer parents, well, sorry. Just havin' some fun!"

"OK, OK, I forgive you, just leave me alone!"

"C'mon, ya seem like the type of person 'o needs a _friend_!"

"What?"

"Ya seem upset! You can tell Auntie Duchess!"

"If you must now, that shadow guy's suggesting I employ humans and I'm a little unsure..."

"GO FOR IT! Humans are fun!

"Well..."

"I know people. You seem like the type who needs more friends. Real friends." To Frankie, that sounded like something from an after-school special, but it had some truth to it.

"I'll think about it."

Then the Duchess left.

* * *

More months passed, and then...

"The Foster's residence has been reported as being destroyed in a fire, and many citizens believe the fire to be suspicious..."

"Ha!" said the Hatter, watching the report. "I know that plan would cave in on itself. Me not interfering somehow makes it all the more satisfying."

"Oh, dear," said the Duchess, joining the Hatter, "Frankie."

"What about her?"

"I kinda liked her. Is she going to end up in Otherworld?"

"Sadly, no. Signing a pact with the shadow guarantees Hell. Good thing too, she didn't seem like the type of person I'd wish to share tea with."

"Yeah...least I still have you, m'lord."

"Indeed."


	14. OneShot: Imaginary Man Returns

**Imaginary Man Returns**

"WHAT IN BLUE BLAZES?"

While he should have known what to expect from this mission, Imaginary Man couldn't help but feel uncomfortable standing in the room, with all the bubbling liquids of some deranged experiment, and the rancid stench that danced through the air. Taking small steps, and looking around for any signs of trouble, he raised his arm that doubled as his weapon. Upon seeing the pale woman near him, his hand became a gun, which shot huge lumps of mashed potatoes at her. The woman's response to this attack was to slowly get off her back, and eat a dollop of the stuff, then shooting a cynical glare.

"OK, what?"

"Don't play games with me, Nemesis! I know what you're up to!"

"Nemesis? What?"

"Don't think you'll win so easily! I, _Imaginary Man_, will put an end to your tyranny!"

"They're always like this," sighed the woman to herself as she grabbed a tube of some kind, "Well, you may be useful once you're converted..."

Imaginary Man gasped in a melodramatic way, then pointed at his new enemy again. "There'll be no converting today, not when _I'm_ around!" Once again, a torrent of giant mashed potatoes flew through the air, and, with the woman ducking them, they only hit some of the flasks and vials.

"My experiments!" Growing annoyed with this creature, she pulled out an attack of her own, shooting miniature fireballs from her hands, which Imaginary Man dodged by rolling over on the floor, and changing his weapon to a gun that sprayed orange soda all over the woman's face, drenching her hair. This caused her to run out of the room, wiping the food stuff off her. Seeing this, Imaginary Man briefly grinned to himself as it seemed to confirm his life-long philosophy; the good guys always win. Sure he was winning, he cried, "Awesome-riffic!" before giving chase to the strange woman. The second he burst through the door, he heard her cry out "Wilt!", so instead of chasing, he decided to wait for the 'Wilt' she was crying for. He knew superhero conventions like the back of his hand, and he knew one must always face henchmen before the head villain. Sure enough, he didn't have long to wait, as a psychotic-looking red monster with one arm ran - well, slithered - towards him, weilding an axe.

"Stop, fiend, before I..." Something about what Imaginary Man said made Wilt seem all the more angry, so he dived towards him, and hit a wall, cracking it and making a portrait thump on his head. Growling, Wilt leapt to his prey, only to be thrown backwards again by a wave of orange soda, and trapped in another gigantic lump of mashed potatoes to ensure he could not make another move. So, with this opportunity, Imaginary Man took it upon himself to perform another well-known trait of superheroes; interrogating the henchmen. "Alright, what's the scheme? What's Nemesis' game? Why does she seem so...different?"

After spitting some mashed potatoes out of his mouth, Wilt said, "Look, I'm sorry, but, I don't know what your game is, either!"

"I am Imaginary Man, here to put an end to any and all evil-doings!"

"I'm not evil, least I don't think I am..."

"Is that so? But I still know I can get some information from you..."

"OK, OK, OK. OK. Just tell me who you are and what you're doing here, Imaginary Man or whoever you are."

While the two imaginary friends were talking, another peeked his head through a blue door and observed them with internal glee. A _superhero_ imaginary friend, one that doesn't seem to have been converted yet. A prospect that seemed to have so much ipotential/i. Bloo pulled his head away from the door for a minute and began thinking of all the possibilities. Even before he had come to this house, he had always been drawn more to the supervillains than to the heroes, even if the thought of being adored and loved by others like Superman was oh so tempting. However, laying waste to infidels and ruling the universe was also extremely tempting, and he didn't mean having to promote the American way or brushing your teeth or whatever those super-chumps did.

* * *

"Great Scott_!" cried Imaginary Man as he looked through the monochrome world he had found himself in, "Nemesis must be up to her old tricks again! I must escape this world and find her!" _

_"You know, I don't think you can," said a rather timid voice. Imaginary Man looked down and saw a brown hare with a strange clock wired to his brain. Considering what he said, Imaginary Man lifted the hare by his collar and brought him to face level. "Look, don't get hostile..." _

_"Where am I, you odd little creature?" _

_Laughing nervously, the March Hare continued. "You're in Otherworld...I mean, you're imaginary..." _

_"_Imaginary Man_! I see my reputation precedes me." _

_"No, I mean, you're imaginary, are you not? All things imaginary end up here..." _

_"I'm an imaginary friend, albeit a _super_ one!" _

_The March Hare gasped. "Well, then, you should know that imaginary friends here have been disappearing like crazy, no pun intended. We don't know where they're going, and I don't think any of us /iwanti to know. I mean, my boss doesn't really care about your kind..." _

_"If my brethren are disappearing, then rest assured, I will find out what's causing it and put an end to it!" _

_"You really think you can?" _

_"Of course! I _always_ win! I came out on top when battling the evil Homework-O-Tron! I fought the Broccoli Ninjas long and hard, but still gained a well-deserved victory! And of course, my constant battles against the powerful and nefarious Nemesis!" _

_While the hare looked rather unsure, he explained the situation in greater detail, "If you want to stop whatever it is, just go to that building over there where the imaginary friends are usually kept. Some of them have been talking about a big light that abducts them. I'd follow it myself, but I'm, well..." _

_"Have no fear, little furry one," said Imaginary Man, dropping the March Hare. "Imaginary Man will find those friends and bring them back! Such a foul misdeed is something only Nemesis could think of, and she will be stopped! _Awesome-riffic_!"_

Bloo still listened to Imaginary Man regaling Wilt with how he came to Foster's House, and hearing 'Awesome-riffic' only intensified his desire to commit acts of super villainy. Plus, Frankie must hate him too, or at least she should, so maybe there'd be a big juicy bonus in it for him if he were to battle the hero.

He found the supplies for his super-villainous costume in that big pile of gifts bequeathed to him by Berry. A blue blanket she knitted for him became a cape. The box he kept some of them in became a mask, at least after two angry eyes and a mouth with fangs was doodled on it with magic marker. His weapon? A unicorn toy (picked out because it was _blue_), because, well, it had a horn.

"I've met that March Hare, and the Hatter he works for," said Wilt to Imaginary Man as the former escaped from the mashed potatoes, "I'm sorry, but I've never trusted those two."

"Is that so? Well, despite your monstrous appearance, you do seem somewhat trustworthy."

"Yeah, but I'm really sorry, I have to fight you!" However, before Wilt could use his axe again, a door opened in a way that was to be percieved as triumphant.

"I am the terror that flaps in the night!" boomed Bloo from underneath his cardboard box.

"Bloo!"

"I am a super evil guy! I am the nastiest, coolest villain ever! I am...." Putting his hand to his hidden face, he tried to think up an alias, and tried to get inspiration from his unicorn weapon. "Uh...Lord...NASTY! No, um, Pokey!" To emphasise that last name, he pretended to poke someone. "No, how about...LORD UNICORN! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Bloo, I'm sorry, but..."

While this foe didn't seem all that threatening at first, Imaginary Man still stood in a battle pose, remembering another superhero rule: what normally seems harmless can turn out to be anything but. Before he could attack, Lord Unicorn flew right up to him, and, noticing he had no mouth protection, poked him in the face with the toy unicorn. "AAAH! NO! A PRISSY _GIRLY_ THING!"

"This isn't a prissy girly thing! It's my evil weeeapon!"

"It's _both_! I _hate_ prissy girly things!"

Hearing this, Bloo poked Imaginary Man in the face a few more times and flew off, causing Imaginary Man to chase him, firing orange soda in all directions. Wilt also gave chase, as he had to do his job somehow. After running up a staircase, and darting through another hall, Imaginary Man stood still for a few minutes to catch his breath. He was almost worried he wouldn't stop whatever was happening for a minute, but that thought was gone in a second; he was Imaginary Man! He had faced greater dangers than this! He wasn't going to be stopped by some annoying little brat! Once again, he gave chase, only to be confronted by another girly thing, this one alive.

Screaming, the pink blob leapt onto Imaginary Man's face, blocking his vision and causing him to stumble about the halls. As she clung onto Imaginary Man with her flexible legs, she slugged him in the face while screaming, "Don't you dare hurt my Bloo, he's mine, I love him..." and that was pretty much all Imaginary Man could make out before grabbing her and throwing her onto the floor. Her girlishness this time only increased any determination he had, as he looked around the halls for any sign of Lord Unicorn, only for the creature himself to hit him on the head with a vase.

"Thanks for the help, Heather!"

"It's _Berry_!"

"No, I prefer Heather!" With Berry thoroughly annoyed by this, Imaginary Man decided to fight Unicorn head on, this time pulling out his seldom-used but still brilliantly effective 'sonic belch', which was just that. A huge belch escaped from Imaginary Man, sending his opponent flying into the end of the room, and knocking off his cardboard mask, revealing his face: a thick, blue slug with two crystal eyes. "Hey, no fair!" cried the foe, his left eye becoming a mouth as he spoke.

"Ew, that's kinda gross, you know. The talking eye thing."

"Just shut up and fight." Even without his mask, Bloo still had that super villain urge bubbling inside of him, so he floated towards Imaginary Man quickly, laughing maniacly all the while, and just as he approached the hero, Imaginary Man slugged him right in his mouth-eye and threw him onto the floor. A screaming Berry tried to avenge the pain visited onto Bloo by attacking Imaginary Man again, but he merely threw her right through a door.

"_Awesome-riffic_!" cried Imaginary Man, "Your henchmen are no match for me, Nemesis! Come out and fight me, and free those poor, innocent imaginary friends! With me around, they'll be enslaved no longer!"

Frankie dumped a vase of flowers onto Imaginary Man's head.

"NOOO! MY ONE WEAKNESS!"

Sighing, Frankie said, "I've heard of your kind, and your weaknesses. You guys are all the same..."

Wilt had just caught up and said, "Sorry for not being the one to capture him!"

"It's alright, Wilt." With Imaginary Man writhing on the floor in agony, Frankie killed him in a second.

"Weren't ya gonna convert him?"

"I was, but he's way too annoying. Last thing we need around here is some wannabe he-man!" With that, Wilt and Frankie walked off, leaving Bloo to wake up.

"Hey, I killed him! _I killed him!_ Go Bloo! Go Bloo!"

* * *

"Oh dear." The March Hare couldn't help but feel disappointed when Imaginary Man returned to Otherworld, no other imaginary friends.

"What am I doing back here? I knew this was an evil world!"

"This world isn't evil, just misunderstood. Oh yeah, and the fact that you're back means you probably died."

"What! No, I can't be dead!"

"'Fraid so!"

"No...no! Those idiots can't have defeated me! I'll get you, Nemesis! I swear I will!" Just then, he burst into crying.

"What a weirdo," said the March Hare, shaking his head.


	15. OneShot: The Visit

**The Visit**

Frankie enjoyed going for a walk out at night. The darkness and the pitch-black sky seemed to give the town a different and sleaker aura than the sun bestowed, playparks always seemed to have an odd beauty to them without the screaming children, and, with the exception of the zooming cars which she mostly ignored, a peace had washed over the streets which she preferred to the hustle and bustle of a daytime shopping centre. Observing the peaceful night scenery, she forgot about the fact she was carrying some rather heavy groceries, including a pair of two litre bottles of Dr Pepper. While the twisted elements of the interior of Foster's House elicited a sense of sadistic joy within her, to see the streetlights and the inky blue palette actually seemed to calm her somewhat, and make her feel relaxed. Even though she got her driver's license about two years ago, she still preferred to walk when going out, and she went out quite often, as she was quite an outgoing person.

Also to lessen suspicions. While she saw a full-scale attack on the human race in her future, she knew she had to keep things subtle while the plan was still in its infancy. After her grandmother was found dead, by her hands of course, she was briefly a suspect due to her being the only person on her grandmother's will. Her story 'checked out', no DNA was found, and a search round the house turned up nothing. She was no longer a suspect, and it was because of the Shadow, and for that, she thanked him.

In retrospect, doing so seemed such an odd thing to do, considering all the times she saw him a few years back, walking down the foggy streets like a Sherlock Holmes reject. His slinky way of moving, his odd dress, and the glimmer of yellow eyes from underneath were intensified by the fact she was the only one who seemed to notice him. A foreshadow of her destiny, it seemed, looking back. Resting on a bench, Frankie thought back to that day when he selected her. The only reason she went to her grandmother's house was just for a visit, and she felt she needed some company, especially after the kids in the neighborhood iand/i the local newspaper were mocking her and her ambitions. Although she could clearly see why. Bringing imaginary friends to life? Opening up a 'home for imaginary friends'? It all seemed ridiculous. It still felt ridiculous when she walked into the house and spied the weird man she had seen walking down the street right in the doorway, and it still felt ridiculous when she promised her power. The last one certainly had an air of temptation about it though, but maybe that's what made it seem so ridiculous to begin with.

Throughout her life, Frankie had always felt like she was under a thumb. Whose thumb she didn't know - God's? - but it still seemed strongly intent on pummelling her as flat as a pancake. So maybe it was because of that thumb that she felt it was necessary to do away with dear old Madame Foster. After all, it was being a blood relative to her that earned her all those odd looks and teasing in school, and she was about one hundred years old so it was just as well. It also seemed quite necessary to change the imaginary friends into what they were now: bloodthirsty, murderous monsters. Especially if those poor friends were mistreated by some mad hatter and overlooked as if they truly didn't exist. In her world as well, imaginary friends were just seen as things to outgrown, and if you still believed in them, you were childish or insane. Wilt was too big a part of her life (and Herriman to Madame Foster's) to completely forget him or any other friend for that matter. Their transformations? That was the only way they could be taken seriously.

She even saw it necessary to use the Foster house as a base of operations. Every town needs a haunted house.

However, as she walked away from the serene town at nighttime, she did not go back to Foster's House, the nightmare house at the end of the town that everyone is scared of going into. No, she actually made her way back to her own apartment, the same one she had spent many lonely nights in contemplation. Another way of lowering suspicions, and making her excited about how surprised they'll all be when she reveals her plans. Plus, the Shadow thought that Frankie needed some time off from commanding the army of imaginary friends every now and again. This was a very dangerous line of work she had wound up in, he'd warn her, and if she were to get too caught up in it, she'd go insane, prey for the Hatter.

After she plopped her shopping bags in a corner of her room, she took a look in the mirror and began to think it was time she ineeded/i some time off. Huge black rings framed her wide eyes, her hair was all tangled and needed a brush and her skin had lost all its colour. Kicking off her boots and undoing her hair, she slumped onto her bed and took in the normal surroundings. Although she had dreams of greatness and felt a childish glee living in a spooky mansion, she still felt a sort of sentimental attachment to this old place, so despite its humility, she still felt comfortable. So after a few minutes of channel surfing, she fell asleep straight away.

That sense of comfort did not last however. Waking up groggily and slowly, she found herself shielding her eyes from the sun's rays like a vampire. The brightness that the sun brought into this room was certainly a contrast to Foster's House - it wasn't as dank and dark as one would suppose, but rather _subdued_. So why was it that the bright sunlight made her think of Foster's and what she was doing there? While she was still on 'vacation' as it were, she couldn't help but spend breakfast still with that house in her mind. While she still felt she needed time away from that house and what went on it, she still felt a biting urge to go back, as well as a tiny voice telling her what she was doing was wrong. Although she knew it would be just a day or two before she could be considered well-rested and thus could return, she still couldn't help but feel a frantic impatience bouncing within her. With these thoughts in mind, the day passed rather slowly, until somewhere near one pm, where she had a rather crazy idea.

* * *

"OK, OK, you're doing good, good..."

Slithering down the large room, Wilt observed the imaginary friends all training for that big day. They didn't know exactly when that day was coming, or what it would even be like, but they did know it was coming and it was going to be big. With Frankie taking some time off, Wilt was left in charge of making sure the imaginary friends train, and train hard. That day, the friends performed basic training. Push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks...it was all good when keeping in shape.

"OK, I think that's enough, now get ready..." Wilt took out a strange remote, and slowly pressed the button. "Go!" An army of transparent soldiers materialised into the room, and the malicious friends all dived at them, dodging gunfire, pouncing at their throats, ripping off their heads and basically making them all a bloody pulp. Except for one, who bounced back onto the floor after being shoved by a particularly nasty-looking imaginary soldier. The diving, dodging, pouncing, ripping and bouncing continued on for hours, all with Wilt looking on with his famous beaming grin, feeling a burst of energy even though he wasn't joining in.

"OK, I think we did well! You've all learned a rest! There's some lunch downstairs!"

All the imaginary friends left to satiate their ravenous hunger brought on by their transformations, leaving Wilt in the large room that acted as a gymnasium all alone. Being alone, he decided to take advantage of it, slithering over to a box of sporting equipment used for training and taking out a basketball. After bouncing it in his palm a few times, he played an imaginary game, dodging opponents, and bouncing it against the wall, which counted as scoring a point. Just as he raised his bony arm over the victory, none other than Bloo floated in, playing paddleball as usual.

"Hey, Wilt!"

"Bloo, I'm sorry, but you missed training today!"

"Um, Wilt, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"Playing paddleball."

"Um, yeah, I'm _training_."

"No you're not!"

"I'm training how to play paddleball!"

"I'm sorry but how will that help us in our goal?"

"Well, suppose instead of a ball, there was a grenade or something. I could bounce it into someone's face and kill 'em!"

Producing an axe out of nowhere, Wilt swiftly chopped the paddleball toy in half.

"My baby..."

"Look, Bloo..."

"Master Wilt!" The voice of Mr. Herriman boomed from downstairs. "There's a phone call from Miss Francis for you!"

Wilt's annoyed expression suddenly became a wide, excited grin as he quickly slithered towards the phone, which he thought probably hadn't been used in a donkey's years. After holding the phone to his ear, or what counted as his ear, he heard the most strange request.

Frankie wanted him to come over that night.

It was a request Wilt couldn't believe. Was Frankie actually asking him, now a hideous monster, to walk the streets? Even so, such a thing would be impossible, considering now the house had some sort of force field around it preventing anything imaginary brought by her to escape. Frankie, it seemed, had thought of those things. She could manipulate the force field however she felt, being the leader of these friends, and would go to the outside of Foster's House to pick Wilt up. As for the matter of a monster walking around in public, all she said on the matter was to wear a disguise.

So that is what Wilt decided to do, pulling out a bunch of old clothes that used to belong to Frankie's father and pulled them over his body in an attempt to make him look vaguely human. After putting on a shirt, and a pair of pants over his tentacles, and squeezing the ends of said tentacles into two boots, he still looked like a monster, but a ridiculous one, as the clothes were really undersized for him.

"Hey, Wilt, whatcha doin'?"

"Oh, hey, Bloo. Frankie invited me over to her apartment for somethin' and I need a disguise to go about in public in!"

"Well, ya should have come to the Bloomeister, shouldn't ya? I've got just the thing."

Out from another closet, he pulled out a rather long trenchcoat, and draped it over Wilt, hiding his face. Bloo floated up on top, wearing a hat rather low to disguise his blue pigment, as well as a comical moustache. "TA-DA!"

"Bloo, I can't see!"

"Sorry!" Using a claw materialised from nowhere, Bloo unbuttoned the coat a little, allowing Wilt to see.

A while later, Frankie came over to the gates of the house to manipulate the force field, and both Wilt and Bloo came out in that ridiculous disguise, wobbling all the while. After softly laughing, Frankie noticed Bloo. "Bloo!"

"What?"

"Oh, never mind." So off walked Frankie, Wilt and Bloo, and the disguise worked in a sense. While one or two people gave them odd funny looks, nobody screamed in terror or tried to kill them, and that was all Wilt was hoping it would accomplish. They made their way back to Frankie's apartment though, and the two friends threw off the coat, and Wilt took off his clothes and threw himself onto Frankie's bed. The same sense of comfort that Frankie felt came to him too, as he felt much more comfortable here than he did even in his own room back at Foster's. When Frankie looked at him straight in the eye, that feeling of comfort disappeared, as he remembered that training session from earlier that day, how the imaginary friends were being trained to kill. When it happened, he remembered taking so much joy in it, but now, he could only look back on it in disgust. Imaginary friends shouldn't be murderous monsters, they should be cute childhood companions helping kids learn about the world and growing up. To see them as intruments for a war was abominable, and Frankie, who sparked off this, was a monster for even consideirng the idea. Staring into those pale eyes, he saw a vampiric beast who just wanted to turn imaginary friends evil for the heck of it, yet at the same time, sensed the slightest tingle of innocence.

"OK, so why did you ask me to come over, anyway?"

The first thing Wilt noticed after he asked that question was the odd facial expression Frankie seemed to pull. "Well, it's just...you know I'm on 'vacation', right?"

"Right."

"Well, gee Wilt, you've worked really hard, and I think you deserve some time off too...plus, it's a chance for us to, you know, hang out..."

_Yes!_ The 'good Wilt' inside the monster felt a burst of excitement. He knew something as humiliating and horrible as this couldn't last - even as a bloodthirsty murderous beast he was still optimistic. Looking at Frankie's expression, he just knew she couldn't keep this up much longer. Just a night with her, said a voice inside his head, and she'll learn the error of her ways and fix everything. The imaginary friends would turn back to normal, and would no longer be trained to be killing machines. He'd change back to normal as well, become a happy furry red creature again, maybe even gain back his left arm, and he and Frankie would live happily ever after.

"But I didn't tell you to bring _Bloo_!" The minute she pointed to Bloo swinging on the ceiling lamp, Wilt's hopes seemed to disintegrate, yet still remain to an extent.

"Aw, c'mon Frankie, don't I get a holiday too?"

Frankie snarled in irritation. "No. You still need more idiscipline/i!"

"Gee, Frankie, you sound like Mister H!"

"He's right, Frankie," said Wilt, patting Frankie on the shoulder, "You should relax more!"

"It's hard to relax with him around!"

"Chill, chill. I actually think Bloo's kinda fun!"

Taking a deep breath, Frankie lay down. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I should chill out."

"Humph!" said Bloo, "I can see when I'm not wanted. If anyone needs me, I'll be in the bathroom."

"Just don't go out!" said Frankie, still wanting some subtlety at this point in the plan. So off Bloo floated to the bathroom, leaving Frankie alone with Wilt. The latter stretched his tentacles and lounged on Frankie's bed right next to her.

"Y'know, we live in the same house, yet we never see each other that much."

"Well, that's work for ya. You know, recently I've been having my doubts..."

"Me too. I mean, I'm sorry, but becoming all scary and murderous just doesn't feel right."

"Well, you guys want respect, don't ya?"

"Yeah, but isn't there some other way? Can't we get respect just by being normal?"

"Look, Wilt, the world is...well...a difficult place. I just don't think there's room for 'happy' imaginary friends. I mean, as I grew up, life just seemed to get more and more depressing..."

"Well...imagianry friends could help cheer everyone up who's depressed!"

"You just don't get it, do you, Wilt? If you were 'nice happy' Wilt now, some ithug/i would either beat the shit out of you or worse..."

"Frankie, I'm sorry, but I'm beginning to think you're just making excuses. That you just want to make us killers for the heck of it!"

In a second, Frankie slugged Wilt in the face, causing him to flop about on the floor. "Look, Wilt..." said Frankie, "You think I'm doing this just because I can? You think I don't deserve it?"

Letting out a nervous laugh, Wilt tried to answer. "No, no!"

"You probably want me to change you back, is that it?" Wilt gave only a small nod. "Well, you can just forget it! You know, I'm actually doing you a ifavour/i..."

"Wait!" All of a sudden, perhaps to avoid Frankie's gaze, Wilt had an urge to rush to the bathroom. When he arrived, he saw the window wide open, letting in the chilling night breeze. "Aw, man, Bloo's gone!"

The hat and coat he came in with got thrown in his face. "Then go find him!"

Not wanting Frankie any more angry than she was at that moment, Wilt put on the hat and coat in a way to hide his monstrous features, and ran outside to find Bloo. Despite his disguise, he found himself hiding behind buildings and bushes in his search for that floating blue ghost, trying to avoid the gaze of humanity. For a few minutes while searching, he looked at the few people out and thought: if they saw him, and knew he was an imaginary friend, how would they react? Would they ask him why he looked like that, and go to the Foster's House to sort everything out? Would they dismiss him as a childish thing? Would they even kill him? Or maybe it could be the start of an utopian society where humans and imaginary friends could co-exist peacefully. He scoffed to himself at the last thought, despite his optimism.

An hour or so he spent creeping around the streets searching for the twisted visage of Blooregard Q Kazoo, until he came across none other than the Shadow, the person who truly started this whole mess, causually lurking in an alleyway.

"Oh, hello Wilt."

Upon seeing this thing, Wilt darted towards the alleyway, not caring if anyone saw him and tried to punch the Shadow the way Frankie punched him, but the Shadow slinked away. The response was a frustrated growl, as images of bloodshed, murder and war fiercly danced in his head once again. With these images, he threw the axe, and narrowly missed the Shadow.

"Aw, that shows the conversion worked."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to take you home."

"Shove it, I'm here to look for Bloo!"

"But Bloo's been found, let me show you." With a wave of his finger, the Shadow whisked himself and Wilt back to Frankie's apartment, where she sat on her bed, talking to Bloo.

Bloo's fingers were stained with blood.

"Bloo!" cried Wilt, taking off his coat.

"Y'know Wilt, killing is kinda fun! And it gives you _notoriety_!"

Wilt bit his lip with his jagged tombstone teeth. "Who did you kill?"

"Mac's dad."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he was a real boring guy. Such a workaholic. For the best, really."

"Ah, remember when I said we should recruit humans for our army, Francis? Well, this would be the perfect opportunity to test this creature's creator. Who knows, he could be the key to lead us to victory!"

Frankie stroked her chin. "Hmm. You know, you do kinda have a point."

"I'm sorry..." Before he could continue, the three seemed to shoot a glare at Wilt that made him freeze for a few moments, before he laughed. He laughed long and hard, laughed about the man's death, the new plan, the visit as a whole. That's all he could do.

"Now, Frankie, I'll send these two home. Be sure to come back to the Foster's House tomorrow. I have some ideas I want to discuss with you." The three odd creatures left, leaving Frankie alone with her thoughts. After absorbing the comfort of her apartment one last time, she fell asleep.


End file.
